


It Must Be Believed To Be Seen

by ParryHotter



Category: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005), Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - All Media Types, Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2018-10-29 07:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParryHotter/pseuds/ParryHotter
Summary: Since they were old enough to imagine, the Bucket siblings have longed to enter the world of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, so when Charlie and Emily discover the final Golden Ticket their dreams very quickly become a reality. The mystery surrounding the chocolatier has fascinated Emily for years, what wonders await beyond the gates, what surprises are in store? Wilder!Wonka





	1. The Final Ticket

Em clicked off the radio dejectedly, her lunch break nearing its end.

It was all over the news, the last ticket had been found. She’d hoped Charlie wouldn’t have to find out from anyone else, she wanted them to talk about it together, but he must have heard the announcement at school by now, there was no escaping it.

“Em, are you just about finished?” called the Candy Shop owner from the front of the store.

“Yeah, coming Bill,” she called back, dusting off her apron and tightening her long brown ponytail.

“Bring a box of Scrumdidly’s with you,” he ordered, the sound of the shop bell ringing in the distance.

She grimaced and grabbed the old stepladder, searching for the correct box. She’d be happy if she never had to look at another Wonka product again, they’d brought too much disappointment with them lately.

The competition had been Charlie’s chance, his one, miniscule chance to meet his hero, his idol: the elusive Mr. Wonka. Even Em had let herself be drawn into the excitement, imagining a handsome young man with a cane made of candy, a hat made of chocolate. She felt like a fool for being drawn into the illusion. A tiny part of her had thought that maybe, just maybe, they deserved a bit of luck for once. _Foolish thoughts a twenty five year old should not be entertaining_ , she thought to herself, _and a chocolate hat would be ridiculously impractical._

Her mind wandered to her childhood. She and Charlie had played for hours when they were younger, always the same game. Charlie as the mysterious chocolatier, Em as his knowledgeable young apprentice (despite being fourteen years older than him). The age gap had never meant anything to them, they were the best of friends. To this day they told each other everything.

Em knew how much the competition had meant to Charlie – to the both of them – and now, thanks to Alberto what’s-his-face, the snotty, selfish millionaire, a little boy’s dreams had been snatched away.

“Em?” Bill’s voice cut through her thoughts like a fevered finger through a chocolate wrapper. She was holding the Wonka box in a vice-like grip, her knuckles bright white.

“Coming,” she called, loosening her grip and stepping down carefully from the rickety ladder, making her way silently to the shop front.

“Hey, hey, hey take it easy.” Bill was chastising a young customer as Em closed the door to the storage room. “You’ll get a stomach ache if you swallow it like that.”

Em placed the box down on the counter, shaking out the tension in her hands. She glanced over at the child and did a double take.

“Charlie?” She gawked as her brother shovelled down an unholy amount of chocolate.

“Oh, hey Em,” he garbled, his teeth fusing together, “want some?”

“No thanks,” she replied, crinkling her nose. “Bill’s right, slow down or you’ll be sick.” She started unboxing the Wonka bars and began stacking them neatly on the empty shelf. “What are you doing out of school, anyway?” she asked over her shoulder.

“They let us go home early, because of the competition…” Charlie’s voice trailed off and he glanced down at his chocolate bar, the sweet treat seemingly loosing its charm.

“Oh.” Em stopped stacking and turned to her brother. “So you heard? Oh, Charlie I’m so sorry, don’t let it get you down. There was no way –”

“Em, it’s fine!” smiled Charlie, not really fooling either of them. “I’m fine, it was just a bit of fun. We were never actually going to _find_ one, so it’s no big deal.”

“Mmhmm?” murmured Em, wishing she could share in her brother’s carefree attitude, even if he was only faking. “We’ll go watch at the factory, yeah? When the gates are opened and the winners go inside? We might catch a glimpse of old Wonka yet!”

“Yeah, sure,” grinned Charlie, a genuine smile lighting up his youthful face. He looked thoughtful for a moment before reaching into his pocket and producing a small silver coin. “D’you think I should buy one more, for Grandpa Joe?”

“I’m sure he would love that,” nodded Em, forever proud of her brother’s generosity. “Just a regular Wonka bar this time?”

“Sure.” Charlie handed over the money as Em handed him the chocolate, her brother placing it safely in his school satchel.

Em looked up as the shop door swung open and a cacophony of excited voices drifted in.

“Extra, extra! Read all about it! -- What’s going on? -- Hear about the scandal?! -- Which one was it? -- Let me see! -- Can you _believe_ it?!”

Charlie and Em exchanged confused glances, the crowd growing steadily bigger outside.

“Excuse me?” ventured Em to the new customer who was digging through her handbag, apparently desperate to find something. “What’s going on out there?”

“That millionaire from Paraguay,” the woman spat out breathlessly, “had the nerve to _forge_ a ticket! It was a fake! The nerve of some people!”

Em felt the whole world stop as all the breath left her body. She sensed Charlie had done the same.

“I’ll have all your Wonka bars.” The woman slammed a pile of notes onto the counter, her eyes wild. “All of them!”

“Yes Madam!” exclaimed Bill, jumping into action.

As the shop owner began emptying his shelves, Em turned to her little brother, a Wonka bar now clutched tightly in his hands.

“Together?” he asked, holding the bar out to her.

“Together,” she agreed and in one swift movement they ripped of the brightly coloured wrapping, exposing something that made the frantic woman screech hysterically.

“You’ve got it! The last Golden Ticket!”

Em looked at her brother in awe, shocked to her core at what she was looking at. A Golden Ticket, a _real life_ Golden Ticket! Identical grins spread slowly across their faces as customers began to stream into the shop, waving their money around like demented stock-brokers. The minute they spotted the siblings, it was chaos.

“Is that -- it is! -- It really is gold! -- Let me see it! -- Show it to me! -- Let me touch –”

“Em!” bellowed Bill over the crowd. “Take your brother and run for it, run straight home and don’t stop till you get there, you hear me? Don’t worry about your shift, just get out of the shop, _now!”_

They pushed their way though the ever growing crowd, people grabbing at Em’s clothes as she dodged her way through the shop and out the door, tugging Charlie closely behind her. She heard Bill cry, “leave those kids alone!” and they were off, sprinting down the high street, their feet moving faster than they’d ever moved in their life.

They turned a corner into the alley and skidded to a stop as a sinister looking bespectacled man loomed out of the darkness, his voice cold and calculating.

“I congratulate you, little boy. Well done. You found the fifth Golden Ticket.”

Em placed her hands protectively around Charlie as the man continued, her breathing heavy from the sprint.

“May I introduce myself. Arthur Slugworth, President of Slugworth Chocolates, Incorporated.” He held out a long, pale hand, expecting one of them to shake it. The siblings stood their ground. They’d heard stories about Slugworth and he was not a man they wanted anything to do with. He ignored their stand of defiance and carried on, lowering his hand pointedly.

“Now, listen carefully because I’m going to make you very rich indeed.” Em felt Charlie stiffen beneath her hands and tried very hard herself to keep her composure. “Mr. Wonka is at this very moment working on a fantastic invention: the Everlasting Gobstopper.”

Em was listening intently, despite her strong dislike towards the man.

“If he succeeds, he’ll ruin me. So all I want you to do is to get hold of just one Everlasting Gobstopper and bring it to me so that I can find the secret formula.”

He reached into his coat pocket and Em tensed instinctively, ready to fight. Instead of a weapon he produced a rather large stack of bank notes.

“Your reward will be then thousand of these.” He flipped through the wad of money. “Think it over, will you? A new house for your family, and good food and comfort for the rest of their lives.”

Em was beginning to get a very bad feeling about the man and she could feel Charlie shifting uncomfortably. They made to leave but Slugworth held out his hand, stopping them.

“And don’t forget the name: Everlasting Gobstopper.”

Em glared at the man and pushed her way past him, beckoning Charlie to follow.

“You still got your ticket?” she whispered as they rounded the corner.

“Yeah,” he nodded, clutching it tightly in his fist. “ _Our_ ticket.”

She smiled appreciatively as they hurried home, her heart racing as the sinister man’s face burned in her mind.

* * *

 

“Look, everyone, look we got it! The last ticket!” they chorused as they barrelled through the front door of the ramshackle house, startling the four older occupants awake.

“You’re pulling our legs,” chastised Grandpa Joe, sitting bolt upright.

“Who’s lost a leg?” wailed Grandma Josephine, blinking the sleep from her aged eyes.

“Shh,” hissed Grandpa Joe, waving his hands to quieten them. “There aren’t anymore tickets left!”

“No Grandpa!” grinned Em, rushing over to her beloved grandfather. “The last one was a fake: it said so in the papers!”

“I found some money and I bought a Wonka bar and the ticket was in it! Em gave me the winning chocolate bar!” squeaked Charlie to his father, clambering onto the bed and jumping for joy as the elderly occupants were bounced up and down.

“Charlie!” exclaimed their mother. “Emily get him down from there!” She placed a tired hand over her heart. “You’re sure?”

“Look at it, mum, see for yourself!” Charlie bounded off the bed and handed the ticket to his mother, dancing for joy as Em took a seat next to her grandmother.

“Greetings to you, the lucky finder of this Golden Ticket, from Mr. Willy Wonka.” Mrs Bucket read aloud. A deep silence settled over the room as she continued, Charlie perching on his sister’s lap.

“Present this ticket at the factory gates at ten o'clock in the morning of the first day of October, and do not be late. You may bring with you one member of your own family but no one else. In your wildest dreams you could not imagine the marvelous surprises that await you!” She looked up, beaming. “Kids, you’ve done it!”

Em jumped up, gripping Charlie around the waist and spinning them both in circles until they were in danger of throwing up.

“Mum? Dad? Can we go?!” pleaded Em, breathless and bright eyed as she lowered Charlie to the floor. He began to wander in dizzying zigzags as he regained his balance.

“Of course!” chuckled Mr. Bucket. “You both want to go? Even you, Emily?”

“Yes!” they yelled in unison, running circles around one another.

Em felt like she was 15 again, giddy with joy and beyond excited for the adventure to come. They’d done it! They were going into the world famous chocolate factory!

“Stop!” yelled Mrs Bucket. “It says the first of October: that’s tomorrow!”

Em could have cried. Tomorrow! They were going _tomorrow!”_

“Jumping crocodiles, you two!” barked Grandpa Joe. “You’ve got a lot to do! Comb your hair, wash your face, polish your shoes and brush your –“

“I’ll make sure we’re ready, Grandpa, don’t you worry,” grinned Em, giving him the biggest kiss. “C’mon Charlie!”

The two of them rushed into their room, slamming the door behind them. The bemused family sat in silence for a few moments, broken only by a loud, muffled chorus of “we’re meeting Mr. Wonka tomorrow!”

Em couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy, all thoughts of Slugworth had vanished, leaving room for one man only: Mr. Wonka!


	2. The Factory Gates

The crowd surrounding the factory was bigger than Em could have ever imagined, bigger than anything she’d ever seen. Surely all these people didn’t live locally? There were camera crews from all over the world, talking in languages even Em had never encountered. There were children and babies, men and women, grandparents and great-grandparents, all chatting excitedly as a large band played merrily in the bright sunshine. People jostled them to and fro, craning a their necks to get a view of the lucky ticket winners.

“Where do we go?” quizzed Charlie, turning in the crowd to face his sister.

“Just head to the main gates, I think that’s where the others are.” Em squinted into the distance, trying to peer through the sea of heads – she could just make out a rather large, really quite enormous boy and his mother, who she recognized from the TV.

“No one’s letting me through,” sighed Charlie as he was buffeted backwards for what must have been the hundredth time.

“Hold on,” muttered Em, rolling up the sleeves of her slightly baggy cardigan – she’d borrowed if from their mother. “Grab my hand and don’t let go, okay?”

“Okay,” nodded Charlie, bracing himself.

Em took a deep breath and prepared herself. Large crowds made her slightly anxious, so it would seem, and all the noise and commotion was becoming overwhelming. There was no way on earth they weren’t getting to those gates, though.

“Go!” she yelled, warrior like as the two of them plowed their way through the noisy crowd.

After a lot of tutting, sighing, angry yells, the occasional trodden foot and a general fear that they might just get trampled, they finally made it to the large front gates. A long red carpet led up to the closed doors of the factory.

They high fived, their laughter dying away as they finally got a good look at their fellow competition winners. Em was suddenly very conscious that they stuck out like a sore thumb. The cameras weren’t even paying them any attention – they simply didn’t look like competition winners.

The large boy – _Angus, was it?_ – was grappling with his equally large mother over a chocolate bar.

“Save some room for later, Augustus libeling,” Em heard his mother reprimand as she ripped the chocolate from his chubby fingers and stored it in her large purse. She couldn’t imagine how skinny and puny the two of them would look when stood next to the chunky duo.

“Mom, we’re on TV!” shrieked a young boy, much younger than Charlie by Em’s reckoning. He was adorned with several toy pistols and seemed to resemble a pint-sized cowboy. “Hi everybody in Marble Falls! Hi, Billy! Hi, Maggie!” The boy continued to list off his friends as his mother, a high-strung young woman, looked on with pride, a slightly forced smile on her face.

“I want to go in first before anybody else,” a high-pitched voice demanded, drawing Em’s gaze from the young boy. She recoiled slightly at the sight: this girl had brat written all over her.

“Anything you say, sweetheart,” simpered her equally pompous father, a smartly dressed, middle-aged man who looked like he was permanently smelling something vile. Em made a mental note to avoid the pair at all costs. She’d had to deal with spoilt children in the Candy Shop, she wasn’t putting up with any today.

The final pair was stood nearest the gate and seemed to be receiving the most attention from the reporters. A young girl was talking animatedly to a group of cameras, her jaws smacking together between every word as she chewed noisily on a piece of chewing gum. She was with, Em assumed, her mother – a woman who, when Em appraised her, made her feel like a dirty, insignificant rag.

She had beautiful, long blonde curls that cascaded down her slender back, a face full of flawless makeup and a dress that hugged her in all the right places. Em glanced down at her own attire, her childish dress fluttering feebly in the breeze, her mousy brown hair hanging limply past her shoulders.

“Em?” Charlie looked up at his sister, a huge grin on his face.

“Mmm?” she answered, distracted as the woman flashed a stunning smile for the cameras.

“Can you believe it? We’re actually going in!”

At her brother’s words, Em snapped out of her thoughts and re-entered the real world. Cameras flashing, reporters shouting. People were beginning to realise that the young siblings were clutching on to the elusive final ticket. She felt an overwhelming sense of excitement.

“We’re going to see the greatest of them all: Mr. Willy Wonka!” she whooped, drawing sneers from the bratty young girl and her father.

The more she thought about the chocolatier, the more she was filled with an unknown sensation. One that made her heart flutter and her breath quicken, almost like she was floating.

“Charlie?” she ventured, uncertain. She paused. “How do I look?”

“Huh?” he looked up at her, distracted by the young by with the pistols. “Why? Do you not feel well?”

“No, I feel fine,” she panicked slightly, “why, do I look ill?” She adjusted her cardigan and attempted to control her flyaway hair with her hands, pinching some color into her pale cheeks.

“No, I mean you look – wait, why are you doing that to your face? What does –” Charlie’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, do you have a _crush_ on Mr. Wonka?”

“Charlie!” she hissed, eyes wide and searching through the crowd as he let out a bark of laughter, praying no one had heard. “Don’t be ridiculous, we’ve never met the man!” She could feel people staring at her and she urged the hands of the clock in the tower to move quicker.

Did she have a crush on him? _No,_ she thought, she was being ridiculous. She was just intimidated by all these people. No school-girl crush here. He was probably old anyway, far too old for her. They were here to have a good time and by gosh they were going to!

They took their place next to the other ticket winners just as the clock struck ten. An unearthly silence fell over the record-breaking crowd as the chimes echoed above their heads.

Em knew she was gripping Charlie’s shoulders far too hard, but thankfully he didn’t complain.

The factory doors opened and the crowd sucked in a collective breath of anticipation. Em’s mouth was dry and her knees were shaking. This was it, they were about to go in.

After what felt like an age, a frail silhouette of a man appeared in the doorway, a top hat adorning his stooped head. He emerged painfully slowly, leaning heavily on a cane with each shaky step and limping severely. Em glanced around, gauging people’s reactions; this certainly wasn’t the gentleman her and her brother had imagined.

As the man continued forward down the red carpet, he appeared very unsteady on his feet. He wore a velvet coat of deep purple, neatly pressed trousers and a purple dickie bow. His top hat, a royal deep orange, created a long shadow across his face and Em struggled to see any of his features.

She could feel the crowd growing impatient and uncomfortable, herself among them. _On the bright side, at least the possibility of a crush is gone,_ she thought wistfully as the old man drew closer. Her heart caught in her throat as his cane became wedged in the cobblestones. He wavered, tilting forwards and backwards precariously.

He was going to fall.

Sure enough, the poor man began tipping forward, falling as if in slow motion. She let out a cry and was not alone, the crowd looking on in dismay as the man pitched forward, headfirst. Just as he was about to hit the ground, he swiftly removed his top hat, exposing a head of youthful orange curls – what happened next left Em and Charlie speechless.

The man tucked his head in neatly and fell into a wonderfully flamboyant forward roll, returning to stand with his feet planted firmly on the ground, his top hat safely back atop his head. A dazzling smile, full of mischief, lit up his marvelously bright eyes.

The crowd let out a deafening cheer, bursting into life with laughter and applause, Em and Charlie cheering louder than any of the others, relieved to learn their idol was in fact a mischievous young man. _A handsome young man,_ fretted Em as she clapped eagerly.

The gates opened automatically and the band started up again, the ticket winners rushing forwards.

“Thank you, thank you,” he grinned, his face lighting up as they approached. “Welcome, my friends. Welcome to my chocolate factory.” He looked at the small group, beckoning them towards him. “Would you come forward, please?”

“Veruca first! Get back, you!” barked the father of the spoiled little girl. “Come on, Veruca sweetheart!” They rushed to the front of the queue, Veruca giving Charlie a cruel sneer as she pushed forcefully past him.

“Welcome,” greeted Mr. Wonka, his arms open wide. “It’s nice to have you here. I’m so glad you could come. This is going to be such an exciting day.” He regarded them all individually. “I hope you enjoy it.” Em felt her cheeks burn as his eyes met hers. She looked away in embarrassment. “I think you will.” _Why was he still staring at her? Look away please!_ she pleaded internally. “And now would you please show me your Golden Tickets?” He released her from his gaze and she relaxed.

A flurry of gold slips were presented, Charlie gripping onto his tightly.

“I’m Veruca Salt,” announced the bratty girl, handing over her ticket and sinking into a sickening curtsy.

“My dear Veruca, what a pleasure,” smiled the chocolatier, “and how pretty you look in that lovely mink coat.”

“I’ve got three others at home!” she boasted.

Em let out an annoyed breath and Charlie kicked her sharply in the shins. She hissed and clipped him lightly on the ear in retaliation.

“And Mr. Salt, overjoyed to see you, sir.” He shook the man’s hand politely and gestured to his left. “Would you just step over there for a minute.”

Next was Augustus. The trio exchanged words, Mr. Wonka laying a polite kiss on Mrs. Gloop’s hand – Em felt a twinge of jealously rear its ugly head and she chastised herself. _Stop being an idiot!_ Then came the gum chewer and her supermodel mother.

“Violet Beauregard,” she snapped between chews.

“Darling child, welcome to Wonka’s.”

Em watched on in envy as Violet’s mother batted her eyelashes and twirled a flawless curl between her fingers, a smug smile crossing her face as the man laid a gentle kiss on her hand.

“A genuine pleasure, just over there, dear lady.”

The pair moved to his left, leaving the youngest boy of the group to introduce himself. Em discovered he was called Mike, an energetic young child who perhaps wasn’t as innocent as she first thought – he seemed to be a bit of a monster.

Before she knew it, Charlie was speaking his name and handing over his ticket.

“Well, well, Charlie Bucket, I read all about you in the papers.” He shook Charlie’s hand warmly. “I’m so happy for you. And who is this lovely young lady?” he questioned, his sparkling eyes coming to rest on Em.

“That’s my sister, Em,” informed Charlie, “and I think she likes you –”

“Your chocolate!” she practically shrieked, resurfacing from the pool of blue that was his eyes. “I most definitely like your chocolate, Mr. Wonka.” She smiled weakly, resisting the urge to strangle the little imp that she so lovingly called her brother.

“Delighted to meet you, Em.” He took her hand and presented her with a kiss. “Short for?”

She was very aware that he still had ahold of her hand and she was willing her palms to stop sweating so profusely, the spot where he had just placed a kiss tingling with excitement. She stared at him blankly, hoping he might repeat his question.

“Emily,” cut in Charlie. “It’s short for Emily.”

Okay, maybe she wouldn’t strangle him _just_ yet.

“Lovely,” he smiled, releasing her hand and turning to face the rest of the group. “Are we ready? Yes!” he clapped his hands together, causing Em to jump. “Good! In we go!”

The group sprung into action, following Mr. Wonka obediently. Charlie and Em exchanged a final excited yelp before joining the back of the group. Em glanced over her shoulder, taking in the many faces pressed up against the factory gates. For once in their lives, she and her brother were the envy of everyone in the town square – their wonderful adventure was about to begin!


	3. Inside the Factory

Em’s nerves began to rise the moment the front door clicked shut behind them.

They were stood in what looked like a small waiting room. The room was brightly lit, despite the fact that there were no windows or lights to be seen, and the wallpaper resembled a sunny spring day. Across one side of the room there was a line of marble hands protruding from the wall, while the other was covered with a heavy, royal blue curtain that was pulled tightly closed. A grey door lay ahead, with a small number lock in its centre.

“Now, hats, coats, galoshes, over here.” Mr. Wonka indicated to the ominous hands lining the wall. Em looked at them warily. “But hurry please, we have so much time and so little to see.”

At this remark, the group looked around, confused. Em and Charlie exchanged quizzical looks as they waited for an explanation.

“Wait a minute…” Mr. Wonka paused, catching Em’s eye as he grinned, realizing his mistake. “Strike that. Reverse it,” he thought it through slowly in his head. “Thank you.” Em was unaware she was grinning back.

“When do I get my chocolate?” growled Violet, her hand held out expectantly.

“First take off your coat, darling,” her mother sang in an angelic voice. Em resisted a groan, _why was this woman so perfect?_

She watched as Mrs. Beauregarde struggled with her fur-lined coat, her eyes turning to daggers as Mr. Wonka offered his help, gently removing the offending item and motioning to hang it up.

She felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and looked down at Charlie, his arms outstretched expectantly.

“Cardigan, m’lady?”

She grinned, all thoughts of envy draining away as she crouched down and shrugged off her cardigan.

“Why thank you, kind sir.” She gave a mock curtsy, which Charlie returned with an overzealous bow, causing her to giggle. She was too distracted to notice the chocolatier look sharply in their direction, intrigued and delighted at the noise.

“Boy, what weird looking coat hangers,” stated Mike.

Em watched her brother reach up to one of the hands and jump back in fright as it formed a fist around their garments, holding them tight.

The room filled with shocked gasps and screams as all the items of clothing were snatched away, Em smiling in relief when she realized the trick.

“Little surprises around every corner, but nothing dangerous,” assured Mr. Wonka. “Don’t be alarmed.”

Charlie returned to his sister’s side and she gave him an encouraging smile. Mr. Wonka continued.

“As soon as your outer garments are in hand,” he paused, giving them all a cheeky wink, “we’ll begin. Now,” he moved over to the heavy curtain, “will the children please step up here.” He pulled back the curtain as all the children, except Charlie who stayed by his sister’s side, rushed forward towards a small podium, revealing the largest block of writing Em had ever seen. The writing started large and easy enough to read – it appeared to be a contract of some sort – but towards the bottom the writing became illegible, even too small for Charlie’s young eyes.

“I can’t see what it says at the bottom,” moaned Violet, her eyes squinting.

“I didn’t know we had to sign anything for this tour,” fretted Mike’s mother, Mrs. Teevee.

Mr. Wonka either didn’t hear her or chose to ignore her, Em couldn’t be sure.

“Violet? You first. Sign here,” he indicated to a faint dotted line and handed her an extravagant silver quill.

“Hold it, Vi, before you sign anything.” Violet’s mother spoke up, taking Em by surprise. “What’s all this about, Mr. Wonka?” she questioned sweetly, her full lips pouting ever so slightly.

“Standard form of contract,” replied Mr. Wonka, smoothly, leaning back against the wall casually as a smirk played upon his lips. “You wouldn’t begrudge me a little protection?” he asked innocently, working his charm as he folded his arms. _Was he flirting with her?_ Em urged her jealousy away with a slight shake of her head.

Mrs. Beauregarde backed down instantly, clearly enjoying the attention. The others, however, were not fooled.

“My Veruca is _not_ signing anything, Wonka,” proclaimed Mr. Salt, his tone final.

“Then she ain’t going in,” Mr. Wonka answered, simply, drawing his gaze slowly from Violet’s mother. “I’m sorry, rules of the house,” he shrugged, unfazed.

“I want to go in, don’t you _dare_ stop me,” Veruca hissed to her father.

“I’m only trying to help –“

“Gimme that,” she barked, snatching the quill from Violet’s hesitant hand. She glared at her father. “You’re always making things difficult!”

“Nicely handled, Veruca,” praised Mr. Wonka. “She’s a girl who knows where she’s going. Now, Augustus?”

“What’s all that small print at the bottom?” quizzed Mr. Salt as Veruca returned to his side, reluctantly passing the quill to the large boy.

“Oh,” Mr. Wonka waved his hand lazily. “If you have any problems, please dial information, thank you for calling. Mike? Violet?”

“I assume there’s an accident indemnity clause,” voiced Mrs. Teevee.

“Never between friends,” he quipped.

“Saw this in a movie once,” spouted Mike. “Guy signed his wife’s insurance policy, then he bumped her off.”

“Clever,” nodded Mr. Wonka, approvingly. Mike handed the quill to Violet and jumped down from the podium.

“What about me, Em?” whispered Charlie, unsure.

Em had absolutely no idea what any of these words meant. Frippery, Labor Unions, De Facto Habeas Corpus Laws, Accident Indemnity…

She shrugged, aware that Mr. Wonka was watching their small exchange.

“Sign away, Charlie, we’ve got nothing to lose,” she shrugged. “Just promise me you won’t die.”

“Sure,” nodded Charlie excitedly. He waited for Violet to finish then grabbed the quill.

“Let’s go in, come on!” moaned Veruca as Charlie finished signing his name.

“Patience, patience, little dear. Everything has to be in order.” Mr. Wonka accepted the quill from Charlie with a smile. “Everyone signed? Yes? Good, on we go!”

He strode over to the door with the number lock and began punching in numbers, mumbling to himself as he did so.

“I didn’t know you had a signature,” muttered Em quietly to Charlie as they waited.

“I don’t really,” admitted Charlie, “I just kind of wrote my name in really swirly letters.”

“Fancy,” laughed Em, a little louder than she intended. The group turned to look at the pair, Mr. Wonka looking up in surprise.

“Well I’m glad you think so, Ms. Bucket,” he teased as the door clicked open. He pushed on the door and beckoned them in. “Just through the other door please.”

There was a mad scramble forward as everyone rushed into the new room, Veruca elbowing her way through viciously. Em and Charlie hung back for fear of being hit.

“After you, m’lady,” offered Mr. Wonka, tilting his hat to Em, a playful glint in his eyes. She smiled politely and ushered Charlie inside, determined not to fall for his charm. Mr. Wonka followed closely behind and closed the door. It was at this moment Em realised all was not as it seemed.

“There is no other door!” yelled Mike from amidst a crown of bodies. They were squished like sardines in a tiny room, the four walls boxing them in.

“There’s no way out!” screeched Veruca. Em felt her breathing quicken and she tried not to panic as she was jostled away form Charlie and into the crowd of bodies.

“Well I know there’s a door here someplace,” she heard Mr. Wonka muse calmly from across the room.

“Is this a trick or something, Wonka?” demanded Mr. Salt as he was slammed into one of the walls.

Em spotted Mr. Wonka feeling his way along the walls, apparently searching for a non-existent door. She trod on someone’s foot and heard a squeal, but couldn’t find the breath to apologise.

“Help! Mr. Wonka, help! I’m getting squished!” squealed Mrs. Gloop as she shoved into Em. “Save me!”

Em shot forwards through a gap, stumbling into something warm and velvety. She looked up and felt her eyes widen in embarrassment as they met a mischievous blue pair.

“Please forgive me,” he smiled, his presence calming her momentarily. He steadied her with his hands and curved his arm around her side to feel the wall behind her, his other hand lingering on her elbow. She happened to catch Charlie’s eye across the room and he waggled his eyebrows, teasingly.

“Now, look here Wonka,” Em heard Mrs. Teevee yelp.

“Excuse me,” Mr. Wonka drew back from Em, his arm firmly on the wall behind her, “question time will come at the end of the session. We must press on.” He raised his voice above all the commotion, dropping his arm and brushing past Em, feeling his way along the final wall. She watched with a slight smirk as Mrs. Beauregarde threw herself at him, only to smack into the wall as he dodged her flailing body.

“Come along, come along,” he muttered, “ah, here we are!” He stopped in front of the door they had all entered through, looking pleased with himself.

“Don’t be a fool, Wonka; that’s the way we came in,” cried Mr. Salt, angrily.

“It is? Are you sure?” he questioned, bemused.

“We’ve just come through there,” stated Mrs. Beauregarde as she tried to tame her ruffled hair.

“Huh,” Mr. Wonka shrugged, unconvinced. “How d’you like that?” He leant against the door casually and it swung open, revealing a long hallway dotted with doors on either side.

The group let out an involuntary gasp.

“What is this, Wonka? Some kind of fun house?” quipped Mr. Salt, sarcastically.

“Why?” Mr. Wonka cocked his head, “having fun?”

“We’re getting out of here, Mike,” Mrs. Teevee began.

“Oh, you can’t get out backwards. You’ve gotta go forwards to get back,” explained Mr. Wonka. “Better press on.”

He made his way down the hall and the group had no choice but to follow. They spilled out of the tiny room, Em relieved to be back out in the open and reunited with her brother.

“Oh, Mr. Wonka, please save me,” he simpered in a high-pitched voice as they walked at the back of the group, grinning as she growled at him to shut up. “I’m trapped in a small room oh save me, save me,” he whimpered pathetically.

“Shut it,” she hissed, marching ahead as her brother collapsed into fits of laughter.

The further she marched, Em noted, the bigger she seemed to feel.

“The room’s getting smaller!” worked out Charlie as they continued forward, having sobered from his laughing fit.

“No, it’s not,” challenged Mrs. Beauregarde, “we’re getting bigger.”

“Where’s the chocolate,” lamented Mike.

“I doubt if there is any,” muttered Mrs. Teevee sarcastically.

“I doubt if any of us will get out of here alive,” hissed Mr. Salt.

“Oh,” Mr. Wonka stopped suddenly, “you should never, _never_ doubt what nobody is sure about,” he remarked, profoundly.

They’d reached a very small door at the end of the corridor, barely big enough to fit a fist through. Em crouched next to Charlie, their heads brushing against the ceiling.

“You’re not squeezing me through that tiny door,” wailed a scared Mrs. Gloop.

“You’re off your nut, Wonka,” chastised Mr. Salt. “No one can get through there.”

“My dear friends,” he said with a glint in his eye, “you are now about to enter the nerve center of the entire Wonka Factory. Inside this room, all of my dreams become realities.  And some of my realities become dreams.” Charlie looked at Em in awe. Mr. Wonka continued, “and almost everything you will see is eatible. Edible,” he corrected himself, pausing, “I mean, you can eat almost everything.”

“Let me in I’m starving!” begged Augustus.

“Now, don't get overexcited! Don't lose your head, Augustus!“ tutted Mr. Wonka. “We wouldn't want anyone to lose that!” he paused again, “yet…” He gave them all a quick smile. “Now, the combination.”

A tiny piano appeared at the base of the door.

“This is a musical lock,” he explained, reaching down and playing the opening to ‘The Marriage of Figaro’.

“Rachmaninoff,” announced Mrs. Teevee, approvingly.

“Mozart,” whispered Em, so only Charlie could hear, though she could have sworn she saw Mr. Wonka smile ever so slightly as he played.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls…” Mr. Wonka finished the tune with a flourish and pushed the tiny door open, the rest of the wall moving with it. “The Chocolate Room.”

Em’s jaw dropped.


	4. The Chocolate Room

“Hold your breath. Make a wish. Count to three.” Em heard the chocolatier’s voice wash over them as they entered the new room slowly, eyes wide, mouths agape.

They were stood on the edge of what appeared to be a meadow, the grass greener than anything Em had ever seen. Trees stood calmly, no calming breeze to rustle their delicate leaves. Flowers of every kind, in their bright summery bloom, were dotted throughout the field like specks of paint on a canvas. Giant toadstools stood proud, their red and white spots vibrant and just waiting to be sat on, perfect for a magical tea party. There was the sound of running water in the distance, hypnotic and calming as paths snaked their way all around the room.

“I – I thought you said everything was edible?” Em queried, glancing at the back of the man’s head in confusion.

He turned to her and gave her a quick grin.

“Take a closer look, my dear.” He took a step forward and turned to face the rest of the group who were huddled together, almost too scared to touch anything. “I’ve never shown this room to anyone before,” he divulged, “you’re the first to see it.”

Em felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction at this – the things people would give to have a glimpse of this.

“Everything you see: every tree, every flower, is made completely and entirely out of chocolate,” he announced, proudly.

“Em,” gawked Charlie, his voice barely above a whisper, “it’s like … it’s like some kind of edible dream.” His eyes bulged and Em could only nod.

Almost as if a spell were broken, the children dispersed immediately. Augustus, leading the mob, had his hands outstretched, his chubby fingers ready to grab the first thing they made contact with as Veruca sprinted over a small bridge and out of sight.

Mr. Wonka led the adults down a small path, Em and Charlie following slowly behind, taking in every sweet sight the room had to offer.

“So, Wonka,” Mr. Salt said, suddenly business-like. “What’s the point in all this stuff?” It was clear from his tone that he was not impressed by the chocolate marvel.

“The point?” Mr. Wonka paused and looked around, baffled.

“Well, what’s it for?” elaborated Mr. Salt, quickly becoming annoyed.

“It’s my creation,” smiled Mr. Wonka, turning to continue his stroll.

Mr. Salt let out a short laugh before venturing further.

“But how does it make money?”

It was Mr. Wonka’s turn to laugh and Em was alarmed to note it sent a tingle of warmth down her spine as he did so.

“It doesn’t,” he replied, happily, clearly enjoying Mr. Salt’s sense of humour.

“It’s a little cupboard of treats for a midnight snack?” guessed Mrs. Gloop, her eyes drinking in the rows of chocolate tree trunks.

“No, Madam.” Mr. Wonka shook his head, ludicrously. Em could sense he was becoming uncomfortable, as was she. Why couldn’t they just appreciate it for what it was?

“You use it to relax?” questioned Mrs. Beauregarde, taking a tottery, high heeled step towards Mr. Wonka

“Not at all.” Em, despite herself, was relieved to see him take a tiny step away from the advancing woman.

“Well, if it isn't _for_ anything and it doesn't make any money, then why on earth does it need to exist at all?” Mr. Salt finished, looking around baffled.

That was the last straw. Em, convinced she’d seen a tiny spark of panic light up Mr. Wonka’s eyes, spoke up.

“You really don’t see, do you?”

The group turned to face her – she even sensed Charlie looking up at her – surprised at the sudden interruption. She regretted her outburst instantly.

“See what?” quizzed Mr. Salt.

“All I mean is,” Em thought quickly, searching for the right words, “it exists because it’s beautiful. It doesn’t need a reason. We should just be amazed something like this has been created.”

Mr. Wonka gave her the biggest smile as he relaxed and she felt a warm glow settle in her stomach. Maybe it _was_ a good thing she’d spoken up after all. Then again, looking at the bemused faces of the rest of the group, perhaps she should have stayed quiet…

“Ridiculous,” tutted Mr. Salt, turning on his heel and heading back up the path after his daughter.

“Michael, play nice now!” Mrs. Teevee hollered, spotting her son pummeling a large gumdrop viciously.

“Em, are we allowed to go _anywhere_?” questioned Charlie, unwilling to explore without permission.

“I’ll ask,” she assured. “Mr. Wonka?” she called hesitantly, not wanting to bother the man.

“Ms. Bucket?” he looked over, pausing in his conversation with Mrs. Beauregarde, eyebrow slightly raised.

“Are we – can we –” she stuttered as Mrs. Beauregarde shot her a dirty look.

“Please, explore to your heart’s content,” he grinned. “In fact, I can give you a tour, if you’d like?” He made to take a step towards them but Mrs. Beauregarde placed a hand eagerly on his arm.

“Oh, that would be fantastic!” she squealed.

Em felt her heart deflate as she forced a polite smile onto her face.

“We’re happy to adventure on our own, thank you, Mr. Wonka.”

She gave him a polite nod and turned, heading up the path, Charlie following close behind her.

“What’d you do that for?” questioned Charlie as they reached a fork in the path. “I thought you liked –”

“Oh shh,” she implored. “I thought we could have a bit more fun on our own.” She gave him a playful shove, which he returned with enthusiasm.

As they continued to wander, they came across a small alcove surrounded by chocolate trees coated with liquorish vines, the ground covered with delicate chocolate-toffee buttercups.

“Em!” cried Charlie in awe, bending down and plucking up a fistful of grass, “it’s mint choc-chip!”

She grabbed a pinch of her own and popped it in her mouth, the menthol melting deliciously on her tongue.

“And these flowers are white chocolate, and those vines are liquorish,” he gushed excitedly, “and look at those branches!” He pointed overhead and Em followed his gaze.

“Candy canes!” she whooped, reaching up and snapping two of the larger branches carefully, throwing one to her brother.

“En garde!” she challenged, playfully.

They were instantly locked in an epic battle. It may have looked innocent enough to a bystander, but it was a deadly fight to the death. Charlie took a heavy lunge forward and Em was forced to do a quick sidestep to avoid being impaled, unfortunately loosing her footing as she did so.

She took a small tumble down one of the banks, landing rather unceremoniously in a patch of daffodils, her candy cane sword emitting a sickening _crunch._

“Em!” Charlie’s head appeared at the top of the bank, “are you okay?”

“No,” she moaned, “I think I broke something.”

At her brother’s terrified expression, she relented and held up her snapped candy cane.

“Truce?” she laughed as Charlie glared at her, his frown turning to a smirk as his head disappeared quickly.

“Where’d you –”

“My dear, are you quite alright?”

_No. No no no,_ she thought, her cheeks turning the shade of one of the nearby toadstools.

Mr. Wonka was standing above her, his hand outstretched, a look of genuine concern ruffling his handsome features.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she answered truthfully, scrambling to push herself up as quickly as she could.

“Please,” he gestured to his outstretched hand, “allow me to help.”

She took his hand – only half reluctantly, she noted – and he pulled her up effortlessly.

She began dusting off her dress, small patches of icing sugar falling like snow to the ground.

“May I?” he questioned, raising a hand.

“Uh,” she watched warily as his hand moved slowly past her ear, gently plucking something from her hair.

“For you,” he grinned, presenting her with a single daffodil. “It’s only slightly broken, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh,” she looked down in dismay at the carnage she had caused. “Mr. Wonka, I’m so sorry, your flowers are –“

“My dear,” he stopped her, raising a hand, “I am simply thankful that you yourself are not injured, what’s a bit of broken chocolate between friends?” he joked, smiling as she sighed in relief. “May we?” he gestured to the path, offering her his arm.

She resisted the urge to beam from ear-to-ear and instead linked her arm through his calmly, his velvet coat soft against her skin, all thoughts of her little brother forgotten for the moment.

They walked in silence for a bit, Em desperate to ask what had become of Mrs. Beauregarde. She resisted.

“This garden, it truly is spectacular,” she noted, shyly. “How do you come up with stuff like this?”

“The mind is such a wonder to explore, don’t you think?” he affirmed, looking around proudly.

She watched him with interest, his eyes flicking around constantly, scrutinising every part of the world he had created.

“Oh, you’ll simply love this,” he said excitedly, quickening his pace towards the sound of running water. As they rounded a corner they were met by the remaining members of their tour. Em made to pull her arm away from Mr. Wonka’s when she saw Mrs. Beauregarde’s glare, but his grip was too tight – either Mr. Wonka didn’t notice or he didn’t care. Charlie gave her a teasing thumbs up and she frowned surreptitiously at him.

The sound of running water, as it happened, was coming from a river flowing carefully through the meadow, a large waterfall crashing noisily at one end.

“What a disgusting, dirty river,” complained Mrs. Gloop, her hands stuffed with chocolate truffle acorns.

“It’s industrial waste,” noted Mr. Salt, disgusted, “it’s polluted.”

“It’s chocolate,” divulged Mr. Wonka, the close proximity of his voice making Em jump slightly.

“That’s chocolate?!” cried Veruca.

“That’s chocolate,” grinned Charlie as the crowd gathered for a closer look.

“A chocolate river?” questioned Violet, her nose wrinkling slightly.

“That’s the most fantastic thing I’ve ever seen,” sighed Em, unaware she was leaning into Mr. Wonka’s side ever so slightly.

“I knew you’d like it,” he smiled. “Ten thousand gallons an hour,” he told them as they listened with interest. “And look at my waterfall. That's the most important thing,” he gestured to the torrent of thick chocolate falling freely into the river. “It's mixing my chocolate, it's actually _churning_ my chocolate. You know,” he paused, “no other factory in the world mixes its chocolate by waterfall,” he turned his head to face Em, “but it's the only way if you want it just right.” He gave her a small wink and she looked away in embarrassment.

“Em! Look over there, across the river!” called Charlie, drawing her attention. “They look like little people!” Em followed her brother’s gaze and saw a group of 10 or 12 little men and women, all dressed in bright pink baggy overalls, their hair relatively long and sticking up at all angles, giving the distinct impression they’d just received an electric shock.

“Jumping crocodiles!” she yelped, quoting their grandfather. “That must be who makes the chocolate!”

She unintentionally tugged at her arm once again and Mr. Wonka released her. For a brief moment she missed the warmth of his arm on hers, but she soon recovered and jogged over to her brother, the two of them watching the small people with interest.

“Funny-looking people, aren’t they, Wonka?” commented Mr. Salt, moving closer to the river to get a better look. They were about three foot tall, varying in shape and size.

“What are they doing?” quizzed Mrs. Beauregarde.

“It must be creaming and sugaring time,” answered Mr. Wonka, glancing at his wrist before placing his hands casually behind his back.

“Well, they can’t be _real_ people,” scoffed Violet.

“Of course they’re real people,” retaliated Mr. Wonka, clearly offended. “They’re Oompa Loompas.”

“Oompa Loompas?!” gawked the group.

“From Loompaland.”

“There’s no such place,” berated Mrs. Teevee.

“Excuse me, dear lady –”

“Mr. Wonka, I am a teacher of Geography at –”

“Oh, well then you know all about it and what a terrible country it is,” stated Mr. Wonka. “Nothing but desolate wastes and fierce beasts,” he elaborated, watching the workers fondly, “and the poor little Oompa Loompas were so small and helpless, they would get gobbled up right and left. A Wangdoodle would eat ten of them for breakfast and think nothing of it.” Em and Charlie looked at each other, confused. Mr. Wonka continued, “and so I said, ‘come and live with me in peace and safety, away from all the Wangdoodles and Hornswogglers and Snozzwangers and rotten Vermicious Knids _,"_ he finished, leaving the group to gawk at him, a few of the Oompa Loompas pausing in their work to stare back at the man.

Mr. Salt eventually broke the silence.

“Snozzwangers? Vermicious Knids? What rubbish is this?” he snapped.

“I'm sorry, but all questions must be submitted in writing,” notified Mr. Wonka, turning to face the group once again. “And so, in the greatest of secrecy I transported the entire population of Oompa Loompas to my factory.” He smiled, simply.

“Daddy,” Em cringed at the whiny voice. “I want an Oompa Loompa right away,” demanded Veruca.

“Alright, darling, alright. I’ll get you one before the day is out,” simpered her father.

“No!” she bellowed, “I want one _now._ ”

“Can it, you nit!” bickered Violet, earning a glare from her mother.

“Em? Look at Augustus,” whispered Charlie, his focus away from the main group.

Em spotted the large boy elbow deep in the river, his arms slick with chocolate, his mouth and chin coated in the milky brown liquid.

“Augustus, no!” she heard Mr. Wonka cry, drawing the attention of the rest of the group.

“Augustus, sweetheart, save some room for later!” tittered Mrs. Gloop as the group moved fervently towards the boy.

“Augustus!” pleaded Mr. Wonka, coming to a stop next to Em.

“Mr. Wonka, he’s just a little peckish,” dismissed Mrs. Gloop, watching her son fondly.

“Just one more handful!” gurgled Augustus between large mouthfuls.

“Augustus, please!” begged Mr. Wonka. “Please don’t do that, you’ll contaminate the entire –”

With a large _splash_ , Augustus vanished from sight.

“– river,” finished Mr. Wonka, his face falling flat as Mrs. Gloop let out a scream.

“Man overboard!” yelled Mike as chaos ensued.

“Help!” cried Augustus as he bobbed up and down dangerously.

“Don’t just stand there!” implored Mrs. Gloop, grabbing Mr. Wonka’s arm helplessly. “He can’t swim!”

“Help. Police. Murder,” responded Mr. Wonka, deadpan, as she shook his arm vigorously.

Em watched on in horror as the chocolatier stood by impassively.

“Quick, Augustus, grab this!” Her brother appeared by her side, holding an oversized lollypop out to the drowning boy.

Augustus grappled frantically with the giant candy, his hands slipping hopelessly across the sugar coated surface as he disappeared once again below the chocolaty expanse, apparently being pulled by something.

“What’s happening to him?” asked Mrs. Teevee, holding tightly onto Mike as they peered into the river.

“It looks like the Oompa Loompas have sent down the diversionary plumbing,” noted Mr. Wonka with mild interest.

“Will that save him?!” sobbed Mrs. Gloop, looking hopeful.

“No,” shrugged Mr. Wonka, “but it’ll save my chocolate.”

“Dive in! Save him!” beseeched Mrs. Gloop.

“Oh, it’s too late now.” Mr. Wonka shook his head.

“Too late?” demanded Em, incredulously as a long pipe was lowered slowly into the river, barely big enough to fit a person.

“The suction’s got him.”

“Suction?” questioned Mr. Salt.

“Where is he?!” wailed Mrs. Gloop.

“Watch the pipe,” instructed Mr. Wonka, simply.

They watched obediently as the pipe sucked up the thick chocolate, a steady stream flowing up and out of sight. Sure enough, as if by magic, the frightened face of Augustus Gloop appeared, travelling desperately slowly before coming to a stop halfway up the pipe.

“Help! Help!” his muffled voice sounded from the pipe and he cried in fear.

“He’s stuck!” squawked Mike, pointing excitedly at the trapped boy.

“He’s blocking all the chocolate,” groaned Violet, forming large bubble with her chewing gum and popping it noisily.

“What happens now?” queried Em, relieved that the boy was no longer drowning but still concerned that he was not yet free.

“Oh, the pressure’ll get him out,” explained Mr. Wonka, calmly. “Terrific pressure is building up behind the blockage.”

“I wonder how long it’ll take,” mused Mrs. Beauregarde, her large eyes staring up in awe.

“The suspense is terrible,” sighed Mr. Wonka, “I hope it’ll last.”

They could hear the pipe beginning to groan and creak under the strain.

“He’s nearly done it!” cried Mr. Salt, apparently riveted by the situation.

“This is terrible,” lamented Mrs. Gloop as her son tried desperately to wriggle himself free.

“He’ll never get out,” breathed Charlie, worried for a boy he hardly knew.

“Yes he will, Charlie. If Mr. Wonka says he’ll get out, he’ll get out,” assured Em, hoping her words would ring true. She had an undeniable desire to trust the man, she just hoped she wasn’t wrong.

Suddenly, without warning, Augustus shot up the pipe and out of sight, leaving them all to stare in stunned silence.

“He’s gone!” sobbed Mrs. Gloop, turning to Mr. Wonka in shock. “He’ll be made into marshmallows in five seconds flat!”

“Impossible, my dear lady,” asserted Mr. Wonka. “That’s absurd, unthinkable!” Relief flooded Mrs. Gloop’s face momentarily, until, “that pipe doesn’t go to the marshmallow room, it goes to the fudge room.”

She glared at Mr. Wonka as he looked at her innocently.

“You evil man!” she shrieked. “You horrible, vile –”

“Wonkata?”

Mrs. Gloop stopped suddenly as a high-pitched voice interrupted her. The group looked around in confusion.

“Ah,” Mr. Wonka glanced down and they followed his gaze. An Oompa Loompa was stood patiently at his shins, his spiky head of hair stopping just below the man’s knee. “Yes, thank you. Take Mrs. Gloop straight to the fudge room, but look sharp!” he urged, “or her little boy is liable to get poured into the boiler.”

“You’ve boiled him up, I know it!” hissed Mrs. Gloop as the little man took her hand and began to lead her away.

“Nihil desperandum, dear lady,” called Mr. Wonka as they disappeared through the meadow. “Across the desert lies the promised land. Goodbye, Mrs. Gloop. Adieu! Auf wiedersehen! Gesundheit. Farewell.” He watched them leave before turning back to the group, a pleasant smile on his face.

Em stared at him warily. _Maybe he’s mad,_ she thought despairingly. _Trust me to go for the mad one…_

“What are _they_ doing?” Veruca drew their attention from the chocolatier and pointed at the remaining Oompa Loompas, who had began to hum quietly.

Mr. Wonka’s eyes went wide and he grimaced.

“Oh, I warned them about this,” he muttered, watching them warily. “They rather enjoy singing and dancing and I imagine they’d like to put on a show for you all.”

“Can we watch?” asked Violet, excitedly.

“Certainly not,” opposed Mr. Wonka, grabbing his cane and ushering them away from the river. “There’s far too much left to see.”

“What kind of place are you running here, Mr. Wonka?!” Mrs. Teevee interrogated as they were bustled along to a small dock by the river.

“Uhh…” Mr. Wonka paused, avoiding the question as they all looked at him expectantly, his eyes darting to each of them.

Em prayed that Augustus would be fine and Mr. Wonka was just putting on a show for them all. After all, surely no harm could come to them under the watchful eye of the famous Willy Wonka?


	5. The Wonkatania

“Mesdames et messieurs, maintenant nous allons faire grand petit voyage par bateau,” announced Mr. Wonka proudly, leading them to a small bend in the river where a brightly coloured dock was waiting for them.

“I think he said, ‘ladies and gentlemen, now we are going for a great little boat trip’,” translated Charlie, quietly. Em looked at him in astonishment.

“I didn’t know you spoke French?” quizzed Em as they joined the back of the group now gathered hesitantly at the dock. Charlie shrugged.

“We study it at school.”

The rest of the gathering were not so lucky and merely looked at Mr. Wonka in confusion.

“What’s he on about?” barked Mr. Salt.

Mr. Wonka looked at them all expectantly.

“Voulez-vous entrer le Wonkatania?” he smiled at them pleasantly, waiting for a response. Em looked at Charlie for a translation, he obliged.

“Do you want to come on the – woah,” Charlie halted mid-sentence, his eyes growing wide. Em followed his gaze.

Sailing calmly down the chocolate river was the most fantastical paddleboat Em had ever seen. Painted in delicate blues and whites, swirls of gold snaked themselves across the bow, the name ‘ _The Wonkatania’_ emblazonedproudly against the blue.

A lacy canopy covered the deck, plush seats of striped red and white sat in rows of twos and threes, empty and inviting. Three Oompa Loompas dressed in white sailor suits with matching hats sat at the stern, two paddling slowly, leaving one to steer the boat gently in their direction. It was beautiful.

“What a boat,” praised Charlie.

“Looks good enough to eat,” added Mike, licking his lips slightly.

_Eat?_ thought Em, amazed. _No way could that thing be edible!_

“That’s a rather nice little canoe you’ve got there, Wonka,” remarked Mr. Salt.

“All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by,” quoted Mr. Wonka, smiling at Mr. Salt distractedly.

“John Masefield,” whispered Em, leaning down to her brother. He glanced up, his eyebrow raised.

“Showoff,” he smirked. She gave him a playful shove as the boat came to a stop before them, a small door in its side swinging open automatically.

“All aboard, everybody,” ordered Mr. Wonka, gesturing to the vessel.

“Uh,” Mr. Salt jerked forwards eagerly, holding out his arms to block the path. “Ladies first and that means Veruca,” he demanded.

Em watched the brat strut onto the boat – ignoring Mr. Wonka’s proffered hand – and take the seat at the very front, her father following closely behind. She turned to her brother covertly.

“If _she’s_ a lady, I’m a Vermicious Knid,” she quipped, her eyebrow raised sarcastically as Charlie laughed. She glanced up and was shocked to see the chocolatier looking in their direction, his head shaking ever so slightly, a small smile playing upon his lips. _There’s no way he heard_ , she assured herself, smiling at him politely.

“You’re sure this thing’ll float, Wonka?” asked Mr. Salt warily as Mrs. Beauregarde and her daughter climbed aboard daintily, the woman’s hand lingering in Mr. Wonka’s slightly longer than necessary.

“Rest assured, Sir,” nodded Mr. Wonka confidently, beckoning the remaining passengers forward as Violet and her mother sat on a bench made for three.

“She’s tres joli, but is she sea worthy?” questioned Mrs. Teevee as she clambered aboard hesitantly.

“Nothing to worry about, my dear lady,” assured Mr. Wonka, “I take good care of my guests.”

“Some guests more than others,” Em heard Mrs. Beauregarde mutter under her breath and her insides instantly turned to ice. She saw the woman throw a dirty look over in her direction and she looked away, ashamed. Mr. Wonka glanced at Em, noting her distress, his attention turning to Mrs. Beauregarde. Her demeanor changed instantly under the man’s gaze. “He took great care of that August kid, didn’t he?” she elaborated, pretending to whisper to Violet, yet loud enough for the whole boat to hear.

“Ignore her,” advised Charlie as the headed towards the boat.

Em took a deep breath and followed her brother’s advice, avoiding Mr. Wonka’s offered hand – much to his puzzlement –  as they alighted the boat. She eyed an empty seat next to Mrs. Beauregarde warily, relieved when she spotted an empty bench at the boat’s rear.

She and her brother took their seats promptly, Charlie choosing the spot nearest the edge in order to get a good view of the river. The Oompa Loompas chattered excitedly behind them, Em unable to understand a word.

“Everybody aboard?” called Mr. Wonka, closing the small door behind him. “Excellent!” Em watched with sadness as he took the empty seat next to Mrs. Beauregarde. She glanced to the empty spot next to her and shook her head. The space was tiny, of course he wouldn’t have sat there.

Without another word, the boat cast off and bobbed gently away from the bank, the Oompa Loompas’ short legs pedaling furiously.

“Hey, Daddy?” Em heard Veruca from the front of the boat. “I want a boat like this. A beautiful paddleboat, that’s what I want,” she demanded.

“What she needs is a good kick in the pants,” growled Em as Charlie glared at her. They bobbed past a group of candy apple trees, Em longing for something sweet to calm her nervous stomach.

“I think I’m gonna be seasick,” moaned Mrs. Teevee, mirroring Em’s thoughts.

At the woman’s groan, Mr. Wonka turned with interest. He picked a small yellow ball off the railing to his right and handed it to her, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Here, try one of these.”

“What are they?” Mrs. Teevee took it, despite her suspicions.

“Rainbow Drops,” answered Mr. Wonka, handing a blue one to Mike before turning back to Mrs. Beauregarde and offering her a bright pink one. “Suck ‘em and you can spit in seven different colours.”

Mrs. Beauregarde wrinkled her nose but took it anyway.

“Spitting’s a dirty habit,” she chastised as Mr. Salt chipped off a handful for his daughter.

“I know a worse one,” mused Mr. Wonka, absently.

Em glanced at the railing nearest them, noting with dismay that there were no Rainbow Drops to be seen.

“It’s okay Em, I feel fine,” grinned Charlie, watching her search. She smiled back and relaxed into her seat, closing her eyes as the smell of melted chocolate overwhelmed her.

Just as she had begun to loosen up, she felt someone squeeze into the seat next to her, causing her eyes to shoot open in alarm as she stifled a small yelp.

“Rainbow Drop?” asked the innocent voice of Mr. Wonka, an impish grin lighting up his face as he held out a handful of candies.

“Yes please,” nodded Charlie eagerly, taking a deep red one and popping it in his mouth.

Em smiled shyly and took a purple one, still shocked at the man’s close proximity.

“The purple ones are my favorite too,” noted Mr. Wonka with a smile. He relaxed back into his seat, his hand missing Em’s thigh by a millimeter and causing her stomach to start doing backflips.

She stared ahead, too nervous to make conversation and vaguely aware that Mrs. Beauregarde was shooting them covert glances. Luckily Charlie had no such worries.

“You’ll have to forgive us, Mr. Wonka,” he apologized. “We’ve never been on a boat before, I don’t think Em’s feeling too well.” She felt Mr. Wonka’s eyes on her.

“Never been on a boat before?” he asked with dubiousness. “My dear Buckets I do apologise!” Em’s heart glowed at the sincerity behind his words. “Please, you must try this.”

Em let her eyes travel in his direction and she watched with intrigue as he snapped off the armrest to his seat, creating a makeshift ladle. He reached over the side of the boat and dunked it into the river before passing it carefully to Em, who took it gingerly.

“Try a sip,” he urged, his eyed wide and expectant.

Em took a deep breath and took a small swig, the liquid warm against her lips; it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. She passed it diligently to Charlie who took a much larger gulp, his eyes lighting up as the chocolate warmed him from inside.

“Delicious!” he beamed.

“It really is,” she agreed, taking one last sip before passing the makeshift ladle back to its owner. Mr. Wonka smiled at them both.

“And it should make you feel a lot better,” he encouraged, balancing the ladle precariously on the railing and stretching his legs out casually.

Em had to admit she did feel better, all her worries had vanished and she was left instead with a warm glow radiating from her very soul. She wondered, however, whether it was the chocolate doing its job, or if the warm glow was down to the chocolatier squished in next to her. She smiled sheepishly as she felt Mr. Wonka’s eyes on her once again, turning to her brother to distract herself.

Mrs. Beauregarde’s voice floated over to them from the front of the boat.

“So, what business are you in, Mr. Salt?” she asked sweetly.

“Nuts,” he replied bluntly before softening slightly under her charm. “It’s been in the family for –”

“Daddy! Where are we going?!” Veruca’s yelp drew her father’s attention away from the woman.

Em looked up from her brother, startled by a dark tunnel looming towards them.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like the look of it.” Mr. Salt mirrored his daughter’s panic, craning his neck in search of Mr. Wonka. “We want off!” he demanded.

“Round the world and home again, that’s the sailor’s way!” cried Mr. Wonka, suddenly sitting bolt upright and startling Em. She grabbed Charlie’s hand as they slowly entered the darkness, her brother squeezing it reassuringly.

“I don’t like this ride, Daddy!” Em heard Veruca’s voice echo in the darkness as the group began to panic.

“Faster!” Mr. Wonka barked, startling Em further. The warmth and casualness had disappeared from his voice, he sounded almost possessed. The Oompa Loompas behind them let out a chorus of demented giggles.

She let out a yelp as the boat lurched forward, picking up speed.

“Wonka do me a favourand tell those people to stop paddling back there!” cried Mr. Salt.

“Mummy it’s horrible!” she heard Violet wail, Charlie gripping her hand tighter still. Images began to flash across the walls of the tunnel. Em saw her mother weeping as their beloved house burned down, black smoke staining the cloudy sky.

“Faster!” she heard Wonka bark again.

The image changed as the boat moved faster still, revealing their father asleep on the side of a dirty road, his helpless frame covered in newspapers for warmth.

“We’re going too fast!”

“We’re gonna sink, I know it!”

Anguished cries rang out throughout the tunnel, merging together in some kind of horrifying chorus.

“Faster!” bellowed Wonka as Em’s body filled with dread, hurtling deeper into oblivion.

An image of four dilapidated gravestones, abandoned and uncared for, flashed in front of her eyes, the names of their beloved grandparents scribbled messily into the grimy stone.

“Faster!”

Charlie being taken away in the back of a van, his tearful face pressed up against the bars helplessly.

“This isn’t funny, Mr. Wonka!” Mrs. Beauregarde shrieked.

Their father, bruised and bloody, staggering down the street.

“You can’t possibly see where you’re going, Wonka!” howled Mr. Salt

“You’re right, I can’t,” he answered calmly.

“Em!” Charlie released his hand from her grip and pointed as an image of Slugworth flashed across the wall, his features stretched and distorted, a cruel grin sprawled across his face.

They careered around a corner and Em slammed into Mr. Wonka’s side, disturbing images still plaguing them wherever they looked.

“Mr. Wonka, what is happening?!” she begged, one of Charlie’s hands finding hers once again as the darkness consumed them. He squeezed it, far tighter this time.

“ _There’s no earthly way of knowing –”_ Mr. Wonka ignored her question, his voice resonating around the tunnel.

“This is terrific!” whooped Mike.

_“– which direction we are going_.” Mr. Wonka continued, ignoring the remarks from his guests.

Mrs. Teevee let out a moan.

“ _There’s no knowing where we’re rowing –_ ” Em turned to glance at the man, her eyes squinting in the darkness. His face was set in a stern expression, his usually friendly features replaced by ones of stone. “ _– or which way the river’s flowing_.”

“This has gone too far, Wonka!” barked Mr. Salt.

“ _Is it raining? Is it snowing? Is a hurricane a-blowing?”_ he continued, trance-like. “ _Not a speck of light is showing, so the danger must be growing_.”

Em gasped as an image of Mrs. Beauregarde flashed across the tunnel, her arms wrapped tightly around Mr. Wonka as they shared a romantic embrace. She closed her eyes, shame flooding through her.

“ _Are the fires of hell a-glowing? Is the grisly reaper mowing?”_

Charlie squeezed her hand once more and she gripped it with all her might.

“ _Yes! The danger must be growing, for the rowers keep on rowing.”_

She could hear the Oompa Loompas howling behind them.

“ _And they’re certainly not showing any signs that they are slowing!”_ Em heard the man suck in a breath and she opened her eyes, praying it was over. He let out a terrified scream, his eyes wide in alarm. She heard the others begin to scream, Veruca letting out a wail.

“Oh, make him stop, Daddy!”

“Wonka, for heaven’s sake!” he snarled. “This has gone far enough!”

“Quite right, sir!” squawked Mr. Wonka, his trance broken as he glanced around. “Stop the boat!” Charlie released her hand as the boat lurched to an immediate stop. Mr. Wonka held out his arm calmly, holding Em and Charlie firmly in place as the rest of the passengers were sent flying forwards and out of their seats. “We’re there!” he added simply, as the darkness lifted and a large concrete room was revealed.

“Where?” groaned Mike, rubbing the back of his neck as his mother gathered up her purse and glared at Mr. Wonka.

“A small step for mankind, but a giant step for us,” he stated as the small door swung open, leading onto a concrete walkway. “All ashore.”

“Let me off this damn thing!” demanded Mrs. Beauregarde, scrambling out of her seat as she dragged Violet along with her.

“Why don’t they show stuff like that on TV?” asked Mike, his eyes wide.

“I don’t know,” his mother shuddered, herding him off. Mr. Wonka followed them, a pleasant smile adorned his face, as if the past few moments of terror had never happened.

“Daddy, I do _not_ want a boat like this,” whimpered Veruca as she clutched her father’s hand, desperate to leave.

“Charlie?” muttered Em before they stood up. “What did you see in the tunnel? Apart from Slugworth?” Memories of Mrs. Beauregarde and Mr. Wonka swam forwards in her mind. _Had the whole boat seen what she’d seen?_

“Horrible stuff,” frowned Charlie. “Mum and dad fighting; Mr. Wonka’s factory being knocked down. Nothing too scary though, don’t worry.”

“No, I’m not worried,” she shook her head, distracted.

“I don’t scare as easily as you, anyway,” teased Charlie.

“ _What?”_ she gasped, smirking at her brother’s sass. “ _You’re_ the one who grabbed _my_ hand that second time, thank you very much!”

Charlie’s smile faded slightly as he looked at her in confusion.

“Huh? I didn’t hold your hand after that first time; you let go and I figured you were okay.”

“All ashore, my dear Buckets,” called Mr. Wonka a second time, drawing them out of their reverie.

“Then who…?” Em shook her head, confused, as Charlie went ahead. She quickly searched her surroundings for anything she may have dropped in the chaos.

She noticed the makeshift ladle Mr. Wonka had used to scoop up chocolate from the river was still balanced precariously on the railings. She frowned as she reached for it, sure it must be stuck down. She picked it up with ease and frowned even further.

“Something the matter, my dear?” She turned sharply at Mr. Wonka’s voice by her shoulder. _How did the man move so quietly?_

“I just – I figured this should have fallen off.” She handed him the ladle warily.

“Hmm,” he nodded, “yes, it’s almost as if we weren’t really moving at all, isn’t it!” He smiled knowingly and walked away, leaving Em to follow in confusion. She hurried over to Charlie, relieved to be back on solid ground, her knees shaking ever so slightly.

They’d docked in a long corridor, various doors leading off in different directions. As the boat sailed calmly away, the siblings studied the signs as they went past, the group following Mr. Wonka cautiously.

“Dairy Cream,” Em read aloud.

“Whipped Cream,” recited Charlie.

“Coffee Cream.”

“Vanilla Cream.”

“ _Hair_ Cream?” they chorused together.

“Meine Herrschaften, schenken Sie mir ihre aufmerksamkeit,” declared Mr. Wonka as he came to a stop at one of the doors. Now was Em’s turn to translate.

“My friends, please give me your attention,” she whispered into Charlie’s ear, having studied German many years ago at school. Charlie looked up at her appreciatively.

“That’s not French,” spat Mrs. Teevee, displeased.

“Sie kommen jetzt in den interessantesten und gleichzeitig geheimsten raum meiner fabrik,” Mr. Wonka continued, much to everyone else’s annoyance.

“’You have now come to the most interesting and, at the same time, the most secret room of my factory’,” Em shrugged, struggling slightly. “Or something like that,” she winked.

“I can’t take much more of this,” scoffed Mr. Salt, shaking his head.

“Meine Damen und Herren, der Inventing Room.” Mr. Wonka smiled at them, waiting for a response.

“’Ladies and Gentlemen, The –‘“

“The Inventing Room?” Em was interrupted by Violet, who’s eyes were now alight with curiosity.

“Now remember,” instructed Mr. Wonka animatedly, “no messing about, no touching, no tasting, no telling.”

“No telling what?” ordered Veruca suspiciously.

“You see, all of my most secret inventions are cooking and simmering in here,” answered Mr. Wonka. “Old Slugworth would give his false teeth to get inside for just five minutes, so don't touch a thing!” He studied them all individually before opening the door and stepping inside, holding it open for the rest to enter.

Veruca shoved her way into the room first, followed closely by Violet, the pair disappearing from view. Em and Charlie let the others go ahead before entering themselves, Em smiling in thanks as she moved past Mr. Wonka. She heard the door close behind her and bid the nightmarish boat ride goodbye, hoping that was the last of the nasty surprises…


	6. The Inventing Room

The Inventing Room was full of the craziest contraptions Em had ever seen. Rows upon rows of shelves and counters and cupboards and drawers; pots bubbling on stoves, paddles churning thick, gloopy mixtures while kettles whistled and buttons beeped and lights flashed and blinked various different colours. There were plants potted in old shoes and top hats, jumpers and shirts hung from the ceiling on a makeshift washing line, rubber gloves stuck to the end of long wooden broom handles, bowls of strawberries and raspberries spinning slowly around on a run-down washing machine; blasts of steam and smoke shooting hot and cold air around the room.

Charlie looked at her in astonishment.

“Even if Slugworth did get in here, he wouldn’t be able to find anything!” he joked as they wandered past a pile of yellow socks with the toes cut off.

“Have you got a garbage strike going on in here, Wonka?” tutted Mr. Salt, eyeing a garbage can full of broken clocks warily.

They followed Mr. Wonka deeper into the room, pausing as he came to a halt next to a large, smoking cauldron. Em spotted an Oompa Loompa in deep blue overalls pedaling a miniature tandem bike lazily, another behind, pedaling furiously in the opposite direction. She grinned at the sight, hiding her smile behind her hand.

Mr. Wonka picked up an old wooden spoon and began stirring the mixture in the cauldron.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing rubber gloves?” enquired Mr. Salt. “You’ll have the health inspectors after you, you know that?”

“Who does your cleaning up?” asked Mrs. Teevee, watching in disgust as a banana peel was fired over her head, followed closely by a determined looking Oompa Loompa.

“Invention, my dear friends, is ninety three percent perspiration,” divulged Mr. Wonka, as he threw a handful of multicoloured buttons into the cauldron, “six percent electricity,” he paused, pouring in a small vial of purple liquid, “four percent evaporation,” he kicked the base of the cauldron and it began to bubble furiously, “and two percent butterscotch ripple,” he added a small flourish of golden powder to finish.

Em watched in fascination as he worked, intrigued as he dipped the spoon in and took a taste.

“That’s a hundred and five percent!” hollered Mrs. Teevee, outraged.

“Any good?” questioned Mr. Salt.

“Yes.” Mr. Wonka coughed, alarmed, his voice two octaves higher than it should be; Em couldn’t contain her giggle and Charlie stifled a laugh. Mrs. Beauregarde shot them both a glare and Em felt herself turning red.

“Excuse me,” he coughed again, letting out a laugh of his own and grinning in their direction. He moved away from the cauldron and turned his attention to a rusty looking bucket. He reached into a silk bag and pulled out an old fashioned alarm clock.

“Time,” he stated, his voice back to normal, “is a precious thing.” He motioned to Veruca to step forward. She did so eagerly and he threw the alarm clock into the bucket with a clang. “Never waste it.” She looked disappointed as he moved away.

“He’s absolutely bonkers,” frowned Veruca, loud enough for him to hear as she glanced into the bucket.

“And that’s not a bad thing,” retaliated Charlie, defensively.

Em felt a swell of pride and she squeezed her brother’s shoulders appreciatively.

There was a loud explosion from behind the group as Mike came flying past them, an alarmed looking Oompa Loompa peering over a pile of old books to inspect the ruckus.

“Mike!” Mrs. Teevee screeched, running to her son.

“I told you not to, silly boy,” admonished Mr. Wonka, his eyebrow raised.

“Your teeth!” cried Mrs. Teevee, clutching her son’s jaw tightly between her hands as she checked for injuries. “What did you do?!”

He batted his mother’s hands away.

“That’s great stuff!” he grinned, pushing himself off the floor in search for more.

“That’s exploding candy,” Mr. Wonka commented, “for your enemies. Great idea, isn’t it?” He grinned, then frowned. “Not ready yet though, still too weak.” He began to walk towards a pile of simmering pots. “Needs more gelatin.” He looked around, searching for something. He plucked an old trainer from a pile of shoes and threw it into one of the pots.

“What’s that for?” questioned Mr. Salt, alarmed.

“Gives it a little kick,” Mr. Wonka answered, unconcerned. He headed over to a sink full of bright blue liquid, the group following eagerly. He dipped his little finger in, withdrawing his hand immediately with a yelp.

“What’s the matter?” asked Mrs. Beauregarde, mock concern plastered onto her face. “Too hot, Mr. Wonka?” She reached out a perfectly manicured hand and placed it reassuringly on his shoulder. Em frowned as she felt the bubbles of jealousy simmering away in the pit of her stomach.

“Too cold,” Mr. Wonka shook his head, indifferent to the woman’s touch. “Far too cold.”  

“That’s gourmet cooking for you,” joked Mrs. Teevee, who now had a tight grip on her son’s shoulder.

Em was startled by an alarm to her left, the group turning in surprise as Veruca jumped away from an elaborate looking machine, covered with mismatched blankets, her hand still outstretched.

“No!” cried Mr. Wonka. “Don’t, please.” He looked at her disapprovingly, shrugging away Mrs. Beauregarde’s hand. “Forgive me, but no one must look under there.” He moved over to the mysterious machine. “This is the most secret machine in my entire factory,” he continued, relaxing slightly. “This is the one that’s really going to sizzle old Slugworth.”

“What’s it do?” queried Charlie, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Mr. Wonka studied him momentarily before breaking into a mischievous smile.

“Would you like to see?”

“Yeah!” nodded Charlie eagerly, Em mirroring her brother’s movements, the rest of the group gathering for a closer look.

Mr. Wonka grinned as he pulled a heavy looking leaver.

The machine whirred into life, the blankets moving back and forth as various parts set to work. A thin conveyor belt moved into action and a series of small, coloured sweets emerged. They reminded Em of the marbles her and Charlie used to play with when they were younger.

Veruca watched as the sweets appeared, unimpressed.

“But what does it do?” she shrugged.

“Can’t you see?” quizzed Mr. Wonka, surprised. “It makes Everlasting Gobstoppers!”

“Did you say Everlasting –”

“– Gobstoppers, that’s right,” nodded Mr. Wonka eagerly. “For children with very little pocket money. You can suck ‘em forever and ever and they’ll never get any smaller.” He looked at the line of sweets proudly. “At least, I don’t think they –”

“I want an Everlasting Gobstopper!” snapped Veruca, holding out her hand expectantly.

“Me too!” barked Violet, shoving past Veruca.

“And me!” chimed in Mike, his mouth still smoking slightly from the candy fiasco.

 “Fantastic invention. Revolutionise the industry,” Mr. Wonka paused, thinking hard. “A few more tests needed though.”

“How do you make ‘em?” asked Mike, moving forward for a closer look at the sweets.

Mr. Wonka looked at him, confused.

“I’m a trifle deaf in this ear.” He shook his head at Mike. “Speak a little louder next time.” He looked around at the group. “Now, who wants an Everlasting Gobstopper?”

His query was answered by a chorus of “ _me’s!”_ and “ _I do’s!”_

He picked up a handful of the sweets and stared seriously at them all.

“I can only give them to you if you solemnly swear to keep them for yourselves and never show them to another living soul as long as you all shall live.” He paused dramatically. “Agreed?”

Em spotted Veruca’s hand behind her back, her fingers crossed tightly.

“Agreed,” the children nodded.

“Good.” Mr. Wonka smiled and began handing them out.

“Go on Charlie,” urged Em, nudging her brother forward. Charlie took a hesitant step toward Mike and waited patiently.

“One for you, one for you and one for you.” Mr. Wonka handed the three children their sweets and turned away.

Charlie looked over at her desperately, unsure if Mr. Wonka had seen him. Em raised her voice slightly.

“Um, Mr. Wonka –”

“And one for Charlie,” smiled Mr. Wonka, turning back to the young boy and giving him a choice of three. Charlie grinned up at the man, gently taking a bright purple sweet for himself and returning to Em’s side. Mr. Wonka sent a polite smile in her direction and she nodded back in thanks, losing herself slightly in his charming features.

“She’s got two!” bawled Veruca as Violet glared at her, snapping Em out of her trance. “I want another one!”

“Can it, you twit!” snapped Violet.

“Everybody has had _one_ and one is enough for anybody,” Mr. Wonka called over the commotion. “Now come along.” He moved off down the room and the group followed obediently. “Over here I have something rather special to show you.”

They were greeted by a large machine. It towered over all of them, even Mr. Salt, the tallest in the group. Shiny metal pipes led off in all directions, cogs and gears disappearing below the base and seemingly into the floor.

“What a contraption,” sighed Mike.

“Isn’t she scrumptious?” agreed Mr. Wonka fondly. “She's my revolutionary, non-pollutionary mechanical wonder.” He looked around eagerly. “Now: button, button, who's got the button?”

“It’s over there,” piped up Charlie, taking them all my surprise. Em followed his gaze, as did Mr. Wonka, and spotted a large red button on the side of one of the metal cylinders.

“Here?” Mr. Wonka questioned.

“Yeah,” nodded Charlie, confidently.

“Sure?” he checked, smiling playfully at Em. Charlie paused for a moment, a serious expression on his face.

“Definitely,” he nodded once again.

Without another word Mr. Wonka pressed the button and the machine let out a big puff of smoke, the cogs and gears grinding into life.

“What you are witnessing, dear friends, is the most enormous miracle of the machine age: the creation of a confectionery giant!” A small ping interrupted him and his eyes lit up in delight. “Finito!”

The machine presented them, rather extravagantly, with a small, white rectangle, no bigger than a matchbox.

“That’s all?” sniffed Veruca, disinterested.

“That’s all?!” hollered Mr. Wonka, alarmed. “Don’t you know what this is?!”

“By gum,” Violet took a step closer to the small item, “it’s gum!”

Mr. Wonka looked at her in horror.

“Wrong!”

She looked up at him in fright, backing away slightly.

“It’s the most amazing, fabulous, sensational gum in the whole world,” he corrected, leaning against the machine, delighted.

“What’s so fab about it?” challenged Violet.

Mr. Wonka grinned, his eyes sparkling.

“This little piece of gum is a three-course dinner.”

“Bull,” snorted Mr. Salt, rolling his eyes.

“No, roast beef,” noted Mr. Wonka, “but I haven’t got it quite right yet.” He frowned slightly, clearly lost in thought.

“I don’t care,” shrugged Violet, grabbing the gum roughly from the machine.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” tutted Mr. Wonka, “I really wouldn’t.” Em couldn’t help but notice he made no move to stop the girl, merely watched on, his arms crossed casually across his chest.

Violet ignored his warning and popped it in her mouth.

“So long as it’s gum, then it’s for me,” she spat between noisy chews.

“Vi, please don’t do anything stupid,” reprimanded her mother, shifting uncomfortably as Violet sighed in disgust.

“What’s is taste like?” ventured Charlie, watching the girl warily.

“Madness!” she exclaimed. “It’s tomato soup, I can actually feel it running down my throat!” She looked at her mother excitedly who forced a smile, her eyes snapping dangerously to Mr. Wonka.

“Stop, don’t…” he mumbled halfheartedly as he caught Mrs. Beauregarde’s gaze.

“Why doesn’t she listen to Mr. Wonka, Em?” whispered Charlie.

“Because she’s a nitwit, Charlie,” Em whispered back, her eyes flicking between Violet, Mr. Wonka and Mrs. Beauregarde.

“And every chew gets better and better!” Violet chattered excitedly. “Second course is coming up… Roast beef and a baked potato!” she grinned, her eyes bright, her jaws smacking together noisily.

“Violet, don’t get to dessert,” ordered Mr. Wonka, uncrossing his arms, his face set in a stern expression.

“Dessert?” Violet turned to face the chocolatier, clearly not listening to a word. “Here it comes!” Em braced herself for some kind of explosion. “Mmm, blueberry pie and cream!” she hollered. “It’s the most marvelous blueberry pie that I’ve ever tasted!”

Em’s jaw dropped just as Mrs. Beauregarde let out a horrified gasp.

“Look at her face!” gawked Mike, pointing at the doomed girl.

“Violet! What’s happening to your face?!” cried Mrs. Beauregarde helplessly.

“Cool it, mum! Lemme finish,” she demanded, unaware of her predicament.

Em watched as the young girl’s face began to change colour, a deep violet spreading its way across her skin and seeping into her once blonde hair.

“But your whole face is turning blue!” her mother moaned.

“What are you talking about?” Violet looked at her in alarm, glancing down at her hands which were slowly turning the same shade as her face. She looked up in panic.

“I told you I hadn’t got it quite right yet,” shrugged Mr. Wonka, watching with interest.

“You can say that again!” cried Mrs. Beauregarde, “look at my daughter!”

“It always goes wrong when we come to dessert,” Mr. Wonka shook his head, “always.”

“What’s happening now?!” screeched Mrs. Beauregarde as Violet began to bloat. “You’re blowing up!”

“I feel funny,” moaned Violet, her hands pressing against her expanding stomach.

“I’m not surprised,” muttered Mrs. Teevee, taking a step backwards as Violet continued to grow. Mr. Salt placed an arm protectively around Veruca as he took a large step backwards.

“What’s happening?!” begged Violet, the buttons of her coat beginning to pop off in different directions, some clanging against some hanging pots.

“You’re blowing up like a balloon!” her mother sobbed.

“Like a blueberry,” corrected Mr. Wonka calmly, taking a step away from the girl.

“Do something!” Mrs. Beauregarde demanded, confronting the man.

“Stick her with a pin!” urged Mike.

“She’ll pop!” interjected Charlie, watching helplessly as the girl ballooned upwards.

“It happens every time,” Mr. Wonka sighed. “They all become blueberries.”

“Do something!” Mrs. Beauregarde hissed, her charm nowhere to be seen as she grabbed the collar of his shirt.

“Oh well,” Mr. Wonka shrugged, ignoring her. “I’ll get it right in the end.”

“Help!” called Violet, her cheeks swollen beyond recognition, her fingers wiggling around like fat purple sausages.

“We’ve got to let the air out of her, quick!” suggested Mrs. Beauregarde, releasing Mr. Wonka and searching for something to prod her daughter with.

“Oh, there’s no air in there,” advised Mr. Wonka. He, too, seemed to be searching for something. “That’s juice.”

“Juice?!” the group chorused as one, Em’s eyes widening at the size of the girl.

“Ah,” Mr. Wonka waved over an Oompa Loompa, who seemed totally unfased by the giant blueberry materializing before him. “Would you roll the young lady to the juicing room at once, please?” The small man nodded quickly and called to a group of fellow workers who were currently swinging around on a broken piece of washing line. They jumped to attention and rushed over, sizing up the girl as they chattered animatedly.

“What for? Where are they taking her?” questioned Mrs. Beauregarde, apprehensively.

“For squeezing,” answered Mr. Wonka. “She has to be squeezed immediately before she explodes.”

“Explodes?!” shrieked her mother, her face going pale as she eyed up her daughter.

“It’s a fairly simple operation,” assured Mr. Wonka. “Oh,” he glanced down at the group of Oompa Loompas, “and _no_ singing.” They let out a chorus of high pitched sighs and reluctantly got to work, immediately rolling Violet onto her side. Her mother watched in disbelief as they rolled her through the room, navigating around the various contraptions, her head, hands and feet barely visible.

Mr. Wonka watched the Oompa Loompas at work, his gaze eventually moving to Mrs. Beauregarde, who was frozen to the spot.

“My dear,” he offered, “may I suggest you follow your daughter? The Oompa Loompas will take wonderful care of the both of you.” He smiled politely as he directed her with his hands. She glanced first at him, then at the rest of the group. 

“I – I have a blueberry as a daughter,” she stuttered, as she took a wobbly step forward. “A – a blueberry.”

“And what a wonderful blueberry she will be,” he acknowledged, placing his hand on her lower back and giving her a gentle nudge forward. “Farewell, my dear. Take care.” He came to stand next to Em as they watched the woman depart.

Mrs. Beauregarde stumbled away after her daughter, the Oompa Loompas struggling to squeeze her through the doorway. After one final push they disappeared from view and the door to the room closed once more, a silence settling over the remaining members of the group.

Mr. Wonka’s voice broke the hush.

“Shall we roll on?” he suggested innocently, his eyes twinkling. Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and headed for a door Em had not noticed before. The group had no choice but to follow. He paused mid-stride and turned to face them once more. 

“Well, well, well…” Mr. Wonka scrutinized the group. “Two naughty, nasty little children gone. Three good, sweet little children left.” Em glanced at Veruca, not entirely convinced. “Hurry, please, long way to go yet.” He turned and they continued on their way.

“What just happened?” whispered Charlie, covertly.

“She turned into a blueberry,” mumbled Em. “A _blueberry.”_

“Remind me not to touch anything in this factory,” hissed Charlie, “ _ever.”_

“Agreed.” Em held out her little finger and they linked them together in a promise.

They followed the group through the door and continued on their journey, unsure of what other wonders could possibly await them, or what fates might befall those greedy enough to test the patience of the mysterious Mr. Wonka…


	7. Fizzy Lifting Drinks

The factory was huge. A maze of endless corridors snaked their way up and down, forwards and backwards, doors leading off in all sorts of directions; some small, some big, some fancy, some with no handles at all. Wonderful smells and sounds seemed to emanate from the very walls of the building. Em and Charlie wanted to explore every room, however there simply wasn’t enough time. They craned their necks to look through small windows, trying to catch a glimpse of more of Mr. Wonka’s wonderful creations.

“How much farther?” moaned Veruca, stomping her feet as they rounded yet another corner, the walls plastered with detailed drawings of various fruits, some Em had never even seen before.

Mr. Wonka stopped abruptly, Mike colliding gormlessly into his back sending the two stumbling slightly.

“Wait a minute,” ordered Mr. Wonka, straightening his top hat, “must show you this.” He gestured to the images on the walls, the group leaning in for a closer look. “Lickable wallpaper,” he grinned, “for nursery walls. Lick an orange, it tastes like an orange. Lick a pineapple, it tastes like a pineapple.” He looked at them all excitedly. “Go ahead, try it!”

Em watched skeptically as Veruca stuck her tongue out greedily, slobbering all over an image of a banana.

“Mmm, I got a plum!” hummed Mike.

“Em, this strawberry’s fantastic!” she heard Charlie praise.

“Tomato?” Mrs. Teevee grimaced, searching for something tastier.

“Can I interest you in anything, m’lady?” queried Mr. Wonka, watching Em carefully, surprise dancing carefully in his eyes.  

Em had to admit, despite all the fantastical things she’d been presented with already today, the idea of licking a wall – a wall that could have been licked by any number of people, no less – was not something that appealed to her.

“I’m okay, thank you,” she declined, aware that the man’s contagious smile was faltering ever so slightly.

“I – you’re sure?” he stammered. “You should try some! The lemons taste like lemons. The snozzberries taste like snozzberries!”

_“Snozzberries?”_ scoffed Veruca, moving now to a miniature watermelon. “Who ever heard of a snozzberry?”

“Aw, c’mon Em!” urged Charlie.

“It’s okay,” Em shook her head, not wishing to offend Mr. Wonka. “I don’t want to spoil my appetite,” she joked.

Mr. Salt looked at her haughtily before returning to a bunch of grapes.

She shifted uncomfortably as Mr. Wonka frowned at her, jumping as he clapped his hands together assertively.

“Very well! Come along, come along.” He ushered them quickly through the wallpaper corridor, Em concerned she had hit a nerve.

They hurried to keep up with the man, passing doors labeled ‘Eatable Marshmallow Pillows’ and rooms containing ‘Hot Ice Cream’ and ‘Chocolate Milk Cows.’

“How do you come up with such creative ideas, Mr. Wonka?” quizzed Em, as they hurried along, unable to stop for a closer look.

“It’s simply second nature,” he answered, turning to her with a smile. She was relieved to see the frown had disappeared from his face. _What was it about the man that was so damn enchanting?_ “Now,” he continued, addressing the group. “Something very unusual in here.”

They followed him into a futuristic looking, circular room; the walls were lined with sheets of metal, giving the impression of the inside of a spaceship. A small machine was quietly producing bottles, bubbles rising out of the tops and disappearing into the sky. Em craned her neck upwards, squinting up the ceiling.

“Oh, isn’t it high! Gosh!” sighed Veruca.

“Bubbles, bubbles everywhere, but not a drop to drink,” commented Mr. Wonka, glancing up at the high ceiling. “Yet,” he added, firmly.

“What’s it making, Mr. Wonka?” Charlie gestured to the machine.

“Fizzy Lifting Drinks,” he replied. “They fill you with gas and the gas is so terrifically lifting that it lifts you right off the ground like a balloon!” Em’s heart began to race – she’d always dreamt of flying, perhaps Mr. Wonka would allow them a try? “But I daren’t sell it yet, it’s still too powerful.” Em felt her stomach tighten in disappointment.

“Come on,” cajoled Mike, “let us try some!” Mr. Wonka looked at him sternly. “Please?” he added, hopefully.

“Oh, let us try some,” moaned Veruca. “Don’t be mean!”

“No, no, no,” Mr. Wonka shook his head. “Absolutely not. There’d be children floating around all over the place.” Mr. Wonka turned and made his way to the exit. “Come along now; don’t hang about.” He headed out the door, calling over his shoulder, “you’re going to be wild about this next room.”

The group followed compliantly, Em placing her hand gently on Charlie’s shoulder to usher him along. She was met with resistance and she glanced down at her brother, his face looking up at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Let’s take a drink, Em; nobody’s watching.”

Em shifted slightly, her eyes darting to the door Mr. Wonka had just left through.

“We really shouldn’t Charlie, you saw what happened to the other kids…”

“Aw c’mon, Em,” he pleaded, “just a tiny sip. What could go wrong?”

Em pursed her lips and let out a stab of breath through her nose.

“Go on then, a tiny sip.”

Charlie’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah?” He glanced over his shoulders, checking they were indeed alone.

“A small one won’t hurt us.” As Em reached for one of the bottles, every bone in her body was screaming at her to stop. If she’d learnt anything on their tour, it was that disobedience was often met with a sticky demise, yet her yearning to soar through the air was something she could not ignore – they may never get another chance, after all. She lifted the bottle to her lips and took a small sip, the bubbles stinging her tongue with the flavors of lemon and vanilla. “Mmm, not bad,” she murmured, passing the bottle to Charlie. He took a swig, grimacing slightly as he placed the bottle back onto the machine. “Well?”

He shrugged. “Nothing’s happening.”

Em frowned in agreement, disappointed.

“You’re right, Charlie. I can’t understand –” she stopped mid-sentence as all the breath left her body, her feet leaving the floor as she shot into the air “-whhhyyy!” she screeched, suspended above the ground. “Oh, I feel _really_ strange!” she giggled, screeching again as Charlie rose into the air to join her.

“Em!” he chortled, “what do we do now?!”

“I don’t know, Charlie!” she waved her legs helplessly, the feeling of weightlessness a bizarre sensation. “We’re in _big –”_ she braced herself as she rose further into the air “– trouble! Mr. Wonka isn’t going to like this!”

“We can’t stay up here all day!” laughed Charlie, shooting past her as he kicked upwards.

“You’re right Charlie, but –” Em kicked with all her might, catching up to her brother “– I don’t wanna get down!”

“This is great!” he whooped, his face the happiest Em had ever seen. “I’m a shooting star!” He cartwheeled through the air, his limbs flailing as he came close to the wall, bouncing off unceremoniously. Em let out a belly laugh as she did a forward flip, travelling upwards through the bubbles surrounding them.

“I’m a rocket!” she cheered.

“I’m a bird!” tittered Charlie, grabbing Em’s hand and pulling her higher.

Em looked down and felt her stomach drop slightly. “Woah, Charlie look; we’re really high now.”

Charlie ignored her, distracted. “Watch this, Em!” He somersaulted through the air effortlessly.

“Wonderful Charlie,” praised Em, all thoughts and worries of the ground forgotten once again. “We could fly to the moon this way!” she suggested dreamily.

“Let’s just fly south for the winter,” grinned Charlie, floating lazily on his back.

“Why not?” giggled Em. “You are a bird after all!” Charlie squawked and flapped his arms, propelling himself further upwards. “I’m a plane!” Em followed, swimming through the air towards her brother.

“I’m – I’m –” Charlie’s voice faltered “– I’m going too high! Em! I can’t get down!” Em looked up in alarm, the sudden realisation that they were dangerously close to the ceiling hitting her like a ton of bricks. They were being sucked into a gigantic metal fan, the propellers razor sharp and spinning ruthlessly. “Em, help! The fan!”

“Stay away from it, Charlie!” ordered Em, frantically grappling with the air in an attempt to reach her brother.

“It’ll chop us to bits!” fretted Charlie, panic dancing in his eyes. “We’re in trouble Em, I can’t stop!”

Em felt her body lurch as she, too, was sucked towards the fan.

“It’s pulling me in!” she panicked.

“I can’t stop! What do we do?!” begged Charlie, searching his sister’s face for instruction.

“Grab hold of something, quick!” she ordered, searching the blank walls helplessly.

“There’s nothing to grab onto!” he wailed, dangerously close to the fan now.

“Help!” hollered Em at the top her lungs. “Help!”

“Help!” Charlie joined her, his head millimeters from the blades, their voices mixing together in a terrified frenzy.

“Mr. Wonka, please!” begged Em, her voice cracking. “Turn off the fan!” She felt tears in her eyes, terrified for what was about to happen. She held back a sob, a lump rising in her throat. _How could she have let this happen?!_

She felt bubbles burning the inside of her nose as a burp passed through her lips and she could have cried in relief at what happened next.

“I’m going down!” she howled with joy. “Charlie! Burp! Quick!” she barked. “If you don’t get down you’ll be chopped into ribbons!”

“Help! I can’t!” he whimpered. “Help!”

“You’ve gotta burp, Charlie! It’s the only way!” she demanded, her eyes locked on her brother.

She watched as he closed his eyes, his face scrunched up in concentration. He let out a small burp and Em’s heart soared.

“Yes Charlie!” She watched as his body dropped a few centimeters. “Burp again, go on!” He let out a longer burp this time, dropping significantly. Em mirrored him, the two dropping together, away from the unstoppable blades of the fan and towards the safety of the ground. “Grab onto me, Charlie,” she instructed, once they were close enough. Charlie gripped onto her arms like a lifeline and she grasped back, assuring him she would not let go. “We’re gonna be all right now.”

After an agonizing descent, her feet touched the ground and she let out a sigh of relief, Charlie landing shakily next to her.

“From now on, we keep our feet on the ground,” he sighed, wearily, letting out a shaky laugh, glancing warily at the machine that was still innocently producing bottles.

Em nodded in agreement, sorry for all the upset she had caused. “Come on, let’s catch up to the others!” She grabbed Charlie’s hand and they made their way out of the room, not once looking back.

The relief flooding through her was enough to make her grin from ear to ear. Thankfully, they caught up with the group in moments and were able to tiptoe towards the back. _Perhaps no one would even know they’d been missing?_

Just as they sidled up silently behind Mrs. Teevee, Mr. Wonka turned with a smile, his eyes locking onto Em. She willed herself to stay calm, a grin still plastered across her face.

“Shall we go in?” he gestured to the door and it swung open, Veruca barreling her way into the room, followed closely by her father. Mrs. Teevee followed after Mike, leaving Em and Charlie to bring up the rear. “My dear Buckets, are you quite alright?” he asked, concerned.

Em felt Charlie tense up next to her as she thought fast, her eyes searching past Mr. Wonka and into the new room for any kind of inspiration.

“Yes, thank you Mr. Wonka,” she nodded, stalling. “We just really love –” she paused as she spotted something moving in the room, her eyes going wide. _Surely not?_

Charlie spotted it at the exact same moment she did, his nervousness replaced instantly with genuine excitement.

_“Squirrels!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry about my disappearance for the past year - a lot of stuff kind of took over and my stories had to go on hold, but now I have the freedom to write again! I'll be completely honest, I forgot I had posted this story on AO3 and I've only just read all your lovely comments - some from over a year ago - and they have made my day. I am so happy I get to continue writing for you guys and I hope there's still some people out there interested in the story!


	8. The Nut Sorting Room

"Now, now, please remember to stay _behind_ the railings," ordered Mr. Wonka as he joined the back of the group.

They were in a large, circular room with railings all along the outside edge. A narrow, metal staircase situated to the right of them led down to a shallow pit, obstructed by a small metal gate.

Em watched in amazement as she looked down upon hundreds of squirrels working furiously, all sat neatly on small wooden stools around the edge of the room, a large, dark hole in its center. She joined Charlie who was gripping the metal railing tightly, leaning over for a better look.

"What're they doing?" he questioned, his eyes locked on one of the small creatures. Em placed a steadying hand on his shoulder as he leaned further forward.

"They're shelling nuts!" declared Mr. Salt, clearly not believing his eyes.

Em took a closer look, watching in disbelief as one of the squirrels picked up what looked like a walnut, gave it a hard tap on the edge of its stool and cracked it open with ease, depositing the contents into a small basket at its feet.

"These squirrels are specially trained to shell walnuts without breaking them," announced Mr. Wonka, proudly, coming to lean nonchalantly on the railing next to Em.

"Why not use Oompa Loompas?" queried Mrs. Teevee, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the scene. Mike mirrored Charlie, stretching up on his tiptoes to get a better look.

"Because only squirrels can get the whole walnut out every time," shrugged Mr. Wonka. "And an Oompa Loompa would never be able to tell a bad nut from a good nut without shelling it in the first place."

Em watched a squirrel toss a walnut into the center of the room without a second glance, the nut bouncing slightly and disappearing down the deep hole. The squirrel reached methodically for another one and cracked it open.

"See?" Mr. Wonka grinned, gesturing at the squirrel. "Aren't they wonderful!"

"Daddy, I want a squirrel," ordered Veruca, looking up at her father expectantly, her clammy hands clamped tightly round the railing. Em resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Here we go again," muttered Mike under his breath, Charlie shifting uncomfortably beside Em, releasing the railing and dropping his hands to his side.

"All right, sweetheart, all right," simpered Mr. Salt, dusting a speck of dust off his immaculate suit. "Daddy'll get you a squirrel as soon as we get home."

" _No,"_ her voice was full of hostility, her hands balling into fists as she glared at her father, "I want one of _those_ squirrels."

"Very well," he nodded, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. "Wonka, how much for one of the squirrels?"

"They're not for sale," Mr. Wonka replied automatically, his eyes locked on one of the squirrels as it discarded a bad nut.

Mr. Salt sighed and took an authoritative step towards the chocolatier.

"Name your price, Wonka."

"She can't have one." He shook his head simply and looked at the man, a pleasant smile on his face. Em felt the group tense, waiting for the explosion that was sure to follow. Her and Charlie took a subconscious step back.

Veruca took a step towards Mr. Wonka, her grey eyes narrowing dangerously.

" _Who_ says I can't?" she challenged.

"I do," answered Mr. Wonka, turning to face her, his confidence unwavering.

"But I _want_ one," she insisted, taking another step forwards.

"But you can't have one," he responded, locking eyes with her as he placed his hands behind his back.

Em watched the stand-off warily, unsure of who would relent first. The chocolatier's blue eyes didn't waver, Em wasn't even sure he'd blinked, but Veruca was a girl who got what she wanted, when she wanted.

After an excruciating silence, the unthinkable happened.

"Fine."

Em had to stop herself from gasping in surprise as Veruca took a step backwards, defeated.

"Thank you," nodded Mr. Wonka, turning to the rest of the group, a smile on his face. "Shall we?" He motioned to the door they had entered through and began to usher them out. Em felt his hand come to rest ever so lightly on her lower back as he guided her out and she resisted the urge to grin stupidly.

"Boy, I was worried for a second there," whispered Charlie as he made his way out, Em nodding in agreement.

Just as the group reached the door she heard the faint squeak of a metal gate, the group turning in unison at the noise, curious. She felt Mr. Wonka's hand disappear as her eyes widened and Mr. Salt let out a shocked gasp.

The small gate at the top of the stairs was ajar, swinging slightly as it squeaked, and Veruca could be seen slowly climbing down into the pit of squirrels. They had yet to notice her approach, but Em had a horrible feeling that their obliviousness wouldn't last.

"Veruca!" her father yelped, rushing towards the gate and making a grab for her.

She quickened her pace and jumped the last three steps, landing out of his reach with a soft thud at the bottom.

The room grew eerily quiet as hundreds of tiny, whiskered faces turned to inspect the noise.

"Uh oh," whispered Charlie as Em raised a hand to her mouth.

"Veruca," called Mr. Wonka, walking forward to lean over the railing. "Come back up here and they'll leave you alone."

"Leave her alone?!" barked Mr. Salt. "Wonka, if they so much as touch my daughter you'll be –"

"Hewwo gorgeous!" simpered Veruca in a sickening baby voice as she approached the closest squirrel. "I've come to take you home viw me!"

"Oh no," groaned Mr. Wonka, taking a step back from the railing.

Mr. Salt made to follow his daughter.

"Mr. Salt," motioned Mr. Wonka, "I strongly advise that you do not go down there."

"The only time I'll take your advice, Wonka, is when I'm looking for the quickest way out of here," he hissed, pushing the gate open and descending after his daughter.

"Down the garbage chute'll be pretty quick," mumbled Mr. Wonka to himself, unaware that Em and Charlie could hear. They looked at each other uneasily.

Mike had retaken his position at the railing, watching the events unfold eagerly.

"Veruca, sweetie, come back here," placated Mr. Salt as he finished his descent. He balanced on the final step, his arm outstretched.

Veruca shot him a withering look before turning back to her chosen squirrel. She approached confidently, a huge grin on her face.

"You're so fluffy!" she squealed. "You're going to have so much fun living with me."

The squirrel regarded her with polite interest, its ears twitching as she spoke.

Em noticed Mr. Wonka disappear suddenly out of the corner of her eye. She glanced around and spotted him crouched down, whispering into the ear of an Oompa Loompa. The worker wore a baggy red jumpsuit, the legs and sleeves rolled up several times, with goggles perched atop his tiny head. His eyebrows drew together as Mr. Wonka continued to whisper.

"She's crazy!" squealed Mike, drawing Em's attention.

She watched as Veruca's small hands slowly reached up to the squirrel, its bushy tail trembling as her hands closed in.

Mrs. Teevee sucked in a breath as the squirrel bolted off its stool and onto Veruca's shoulder, her father rushing forward angrily.

"Get off her, you rodent!" he spat as Veruca began to wail.

"Daddy get it off! I don't like it!" She flailed her arms around wildly, the squirrel scuttling down her front and around onto her back.

Mr. Wonka stood up once again, the Oompa Loompa hurrying back out of the room.

Em glanced at him in panic.

"Are you going to do anything?" she asked as Veruca began to stumble backwards.

"I don't think –"

"Wonka, for god's sake, help her!" cried Mr. Salt as he tried to bat the squirrel off his screeching daughter. With one well aimed blow from the back of his hand, the squirrel flew off Veruca's shoulder and onto the floor, skidding to a halt a safe distance away.

Em sucked in a shocked breath as Mr. Wonka's eyes narrowed, his eyebrows drawing together.

The squirrel shook its bushy tail, dusting itself off as Mr. Salt attempted to calm his daughter.

Within seconds, however, chaos ensued.

Every single squirrel in the room moved as one, descending upon father and daughter in a lighting fast, grey wave of angry fur.

Charlie let out a frightened yelp as Mrs. Teevee wrenched Mike away from the railing. Em heard Mr. Salt cry out just before he was enveloped by the mass, him and his daughter disappearing from sight.

"Mr. Wonka," she pleaded, "you have to do something!"

"I can't!" he shrugged despairingly, holding his hands up, powerless.

They watched on helplessly as the couple were buffeted around, Em's eyes widening in horror when she realised where they were headed.

"Em!" gasped Charlie, "the hole! They're heading for the hole!" Charlie was right, and Em could only nod silently. The squirrels where moving the duo towards the large hole in the center of the room, where all the bad nuts disappeared. Charlie gripped her arm in fear.

"Wonka, where does that hole go?!" demanded Mrs. Teevee, her arms clenched tightly around her struggling son.

"Hmm?" Mr. Wonka was watching the squirrels intently. He glanced at the group. "Oh, you mean the garbage chute?"

"Garbage chute?!" challenged Mike. "Wicked!"

"It leads to the furnace," he added simply.

"The furnace?!" chorused the group, Em rushing forward involuntarily, looking for some way to help. Veruca may have been a spoilt brat and her father may have been a deeply unpleasant man, but she didn't want them to burn!

"Em, no!" cried Charlie, reaching for his sister once more.

"Stay there Charlie," she ordered as she searched the room helplessly. There had to be some way to help them.

"Please, Ms. Bucket, stay _away_ from the railing," called Mr. Wonka, taking a cautionary step forward. "There really isn't anything you can do to help them now."

Em glanced back at the man.

Unlike the other children and parents who had disappeared before her, he seemed to show genuine concern for her safety, and whilst the prospect of that ignited a warm glow in her heart – much to her repugnance – she couldn't shake off the fact that this situation wasn't like the others. These people could _die_ if someone didn't help them. _They'll be burned to a crisp,_ she thought fearfully.

Her eyes locked with Mr. Wonka's and she searched them pleadingly, hoping that this time he'd step in and help. She instead found only concern and confusion upon his face, and with a deep breath she turned and headed towards the gate, so carelessly left open by Mr. Salt.

Em was not a brave girl, she'd freely admit that. She was shy and anxious and very rarely stood up for herself, but in this moment she banished all her fears and self-doubt with a deep breath and descended the metal staircase nimbly, Charlie's pleading voice a distant hum in her ears.

The large jumble of flailing limbs that was The Salt's was precariously close to the garbage chute by now, Veruca's shrieks and her father's threats mingling with the chatter of the angry squirrels.

Em realised, once she had reached the bottom of the stairs, that there really was nothing she could do; Mr. Wonka was right. She glanced back up to the group for inspiration, hardly noticing that Charlie wasn't the only one pressed up against the railing, watching on fearfully, knuckles white.

She glanced back to the squirrels and saw her time was almost up. Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest object to her and hurled it at the grey, furry mass. Despite the urgency of the situation, she couldn't help but be slightly impressed by the accuracy of her throw and sighed in relief as the squirrels stopped and turned as one to regard their new visitor.

The small basket of nuts she had apparently thrown came to a halt on the floor, its contents scattering across the room just as Veruca let out an ear-splitting shriek. Em watched in shock as the girl began to topple backwards, her arms flailing through the air as she tried to regain her balance, apparently closer to the hole in the ground than she had realised.

Mr. Salt moved quickly, grabbing his daughter's arm just before she disappeared out of sight.

"Daddy's got you, Veruca sweetie!" he bellowed, stumbling under her weight. Em rushed forward before the two could disappear once again, the squirrels watching on in silence, engrossed by Em's appearance.

She grabbed the girl's other arm and, with Mr. Salt's help, heaved her out of the ominous hole and safely back onto solid ground.

Veruca burst into tears as Mr. Salt began to brush her off, his hair dishevelled and his suit ripped in places. Em glanced up once again to the balcony, relieved to see Charlie's grinning face peering down at her. She was slightly taken aback by the expression on Mr. Wonka's face, however, and couldn't help but think that he looked annoyed, almost irritated that she had intervened and, ultimately, saved the couple's life.

Just as her eyebrows began to draw together in confusion, she felt a forceful hand on her arm, swiveling her away from the group.

"My Veruca's been through enough," hissed Mr. Salt quietly, specks of spittle hitting her flushed face.

_Not quite the thank you I was expecting,_ thought Em, dryly, as Veruca glared at her, her eyes puffy and red.

"I was only trying to help, Mr. Salt, I didn't want you both to get –"

"Veruca's winning this competition," he whispered menacingly, his lips barely moving, "so say goodbye to your chances."

Before Em could even contemplate his words, she felt an elbow connect sharply with her stomach, her feet stumbling backwards in shock.

Her scream got lost in her throat as all the air left her lungs. Her foot stepped back into nothingness and she felt herself falling, blackness swallowing her as if in slow motion; she flailed her arms in the hope that she could grab onto something, anything. Mr. Salt's ominous smile disappeared into the distance, along with the squirrels, Mr. Wonka, Charlie, and any hope she had of getting out of there alive.

She tumbled further and further into the depths of the factory, her eyes wide in shock, her scream still stuck in her throat. She could hear a rushing in her ears and she prepared herself as best she could for the furnace, for the painful lick of the flames that would be the last thing she ever felt. The walls felt like they were closing in, like they were going to crush her.

In fact, the walls were _definitely_ closing in; the endless void that was the pitch-black tunnel was slowly becoming a slender chute, smooth against Em's back. As she suddenly careered headfirst around a sharp corner she let out a yelp, her startled silence finally breaking. She screamed as she rounded another corner in complete darkness, her stomach flipping uncomfortably before she came to an unceremonious stop, dropping a small distance onto something very squishy and slightly sticky.

She squeezed her eyes tight shut, waiting for the fire to engulf her, her lungs sucking in their last moments of air before the smoke started.

* * *

He watched in disbelief as the small basket flew through the air. He prayed the squirrels would stop; they were harmless, yes, but he couldn't control that many of them. He'd meant what he said, there was nothing he could do – if they wanted that girl down the chute then that's where she was headed, and as far as he was concerned that was where she belonged, hopefully her father would follow straight after.

But not Em.

_Ms. Bucket,_ he corrected himself, absentmindedly.

He was unaware that he had moved to the edge of the railing to stand next to her brother, both of them gripping the railing with vice-like fingers as they watched the exchange.

The squirrels paused in their barrage to observe the young lady and he had to stop the grin from spreading across his face; she'd done it, she was safe. The squirrels wouldn't start up again – they may be dedicated workers, but they were blessed with awful short-term memory, and thanks to this new distraction they would have already forgotten about Veruca, unfortunately.

His eyes were quickly drawn from Em as Veruca's arms began to flail, her small frame toppling towards the hole. He willed her to fall, willed her father to jump in after her, willed Em to climb back up the stairs to safety.

Mr. Salt made a grab for his falling daughter and Willy was, he was ashamed to admit, disappointed when Em rushed to the man's aid. He watched as the two pulled her to safety, his eyes meeting Em's as she looked up to the group breathlessly. He tried to hide the disappointment from his face as Em looked at him in confusion.

Mr. Salt, ever the gentlemen, snatched Willy from his reverie as he pulled Em around, presumably to give her a very backhanded thank you.

Willy abstained from rolling his eyes, choosing instead to clap his hands together and prepare for the rest of the tour. He plastered a grin on his face and turned to face the Teevee family. Mrs. Teevee was, presumably, just about to speak when her eyes went wide and she let out a shocked gasp. He followed her gaze and felt his stomach drop.

Em was nowhere to be seen.

"Did he just –" Willy's question was cut off by and anguished cry.

"He pushed her!" screeched Charlie, scrambling at the bars. "He pushed my sister! She'll burn, Mr. Wonka! You have to save her, please!" begged Charlie, his panicked eyes filling with tears as he worked himself into a frenzy.

"She'll be fine, Charlie," assured Willy automatically, fighting to keep his composure as he shot daggers at Mr. Salt.

"What? But the furnace! How will she be –"

"Don't worry Charlie, your sister will be _fine,"_ he stressed, his lips thinning and his temper rising.

"Wonka, I'm so sorry, the poor girl just fell," lied Mr. Salt too easily as he called up to the group, gesturing innocently to the garbage chute. "Come on, Veruca darling, let's get you back up those stairs," simpered the man as he ushered his daughter through the sea of squirrels, the small animals watching, almost obediently, all thoughts of Em forgotten.

Willy could hear a roaring in his ears as he watched the two ascend the staircase. Ms. Bucket would be fine, yes; he'd already requested they redirect the chute away from the furnace as soon as the little brat Veruca had tried to get her hands on a squirrel. But _they_ didn't know that. As far as Mr. Salt was aware he'd just sent an innocent young woman plunging to her death.

"Well, very unfortunate business Wonka," muttered Mr. Salt as he closed the gate behind him. "Nothing to be done about it –"

"Out."

The group looked at him in silence; Charlie's eyes swimming with tears, Mrs Teevee still gripping on to Mike, Veruca's face pulling down into a glare.

Mr. Salt looked at him, his bushy eyebrows shooting upwards.

"I beg your pardon? It sounded like you said –"

"Out," Willy ordered again, taking a step forward, his blood boiling and his anger rising. He never lost his temper, that was something he prided himself on, but in this moment he wanted these vermin gone. Mr. Salt took an alarmed step backwards, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. "Get out of my factory, right this minute," he hissed, his voice steady and his eyes blazing, an Oompa Loompa appearing gingerly at his side. "Get them out of my sight."


	9. The Garbage Chute

Em blinked into the darkness.

She'd been waiting quite some time for the fire to start, and she was beginning to think that perhaps she _hadn't_ just careered headfirst into the factory's furnace.

_But if I'm not in the furnace, then where am I?_

She searched around blindly, her eyes still acclimatising to the blackness engulfing her. Her heart was starting to calm to a steadier rhythm and her stomach was finally beginning to settle after her terrifying descent.

How could Mr. Salt have done that? After she'd helped him save his daughter? And what would Charlie think? _He must be worried sick,_ she thought, dolefully. His tour of the factory was ruined all because of her, because she hadn't listened to Mr. Wonka. If she'd just stayed put it would be Veruca and her father down here right now, instead of Em.

_Wherever here is,_ she mused, sourly.

She reached a tentative hand out slowly, moving it guardedly through the air, afraid of what she might find. She was met with no resistance, her hand simply disappearing into the never-ending expanse. She clutched it back to her chest fearfully, her heartbeat quickening once again. How was she meant to find her way out if she couldn't see anything?

She blinked again, willing her eyes to adjust, to make out some shadow in the distance.

"Bucketa?"

She screeched as a voice sounded behind her, her body automatically scrambling forward, away from the offending sound. She felt herself slide downwards a few feet and grimaced as her hand landed in a cold pool of liquid. She scrunched up her nose and searched frantically for the source of the noise.

She heard a rustling to her left and struggled up onto her knees, her bare legs cold against the damp ground.

"Huh-hello?" she stuttered, taking a deep breath in, praying that whatever it was wouldn't reply.

"Bucketa?"

She whipped her head around to the right, suddenly aware that there was more than one voice. The first voice had sounded childlike – harmless even – but this one was much deeper, and sounded much bigger than the first.

"Wha-what do you want? Where am I?" she could feel herself beginning to panic. What was down here with her, lost and forgotten in the dark depths of the factory?

"Ma-makap!" something called, close to her now, it's voice high and jarring. She could hear it moving as she shifted anxiously. She attempted to stand up, the ground beneath her uneven and spongy, her knees shaky.

"Makap, makap!" it called again, more urgently this time.

"Oom!" a voice answered in response. Em continued to search blindly, the voices sounding from all around her and echoing through the dark expanse.

She took a disoriented step forward and felt her foot slide out from underneath her, her body following as she skated further down whatever it was she was stood on. She came to an abrupt stop as she landed on something very hard, her legs sprawling out in front of her, a loud thump reverberating around the room.

"Haha!"

She held back yet another screech as a bright light appeared, shining painfully into her sensitive eyes. She shut them tightly, grimacing away from the blaze, praying that it wasn't a flame about to engulf her.

"Bucketa."

She sensed the light lowering and edged her eyes open, wary of what she might find.

She was greeted by a shock of bright orange hair, spiked up in various directions and distinctly untameable. The owner of the hair was looking at her patiently, his small features stretched eerily across his face from the light of the little torch he was holding, his pint-sized hand outstretched.

Em glanced down at the offered hand and back up to his face.

"You're – you're an Oompa Loompa?" It was more a statement than a question, but she couldn't help the uncertainty that escaped through her words.

The small man nodded purposefully before shaking his hand at her, the gesture suggesting she take it.

To her left, another beam of light appeared, revealing a similar looking Oompa Loompa, but with much shorter hair. He was banging his torch on the floor in frustration, apparently in an attempt to get it to switch on.

He glanced up at the two and let out an excited, high pitched cheer, his small arms waving above his head in celebration.

"Makap," the first Oompa Loompa ordered, his voice much deeper and authoritative. His companion nodded and disappeared behind a large pile of empty milk cartons, the light from his torch vanishing from sight.

She stared at her rescuer for a few more seconds before slowly lifting her hand to his, her eyes never leaving his face. His slender fingers clamped around her index finger and he smiled.

He lifted his torch once again and shone it towards her feet, revealing a battered looking oak table that Em was currently sat on, all four of its legs missing and with a deep crack running down its centre.

"Up?"

She jumped in fright as he spoke, taken aback by his use of English rather than … whatever it was they spoke.

"I – you speak English?" she queried, placing her other hand on the table to steady herself as she pushed herself up. The surface was slightly sticky and she tried not to think about what substances she might be covered in all together.

The Oompa Loompa looked at her quizzically before turning sharply and tugging at her hand.

She followed obediently, the small man far more sure footed than herself on the uneven ground. They descended slowly, however, and Em only slipped a few times. She was thankful that she didn't fall over, as she feared she would have most definitely crushed her rescuer.

As the Oompa Loompa's torch lit the way, Em caught glances of what appeared to be piles of rubbish and discarded bits of machinery, each item broken beyond recognition. She imagined the room must be huge, piled high with failed inventions that would forever be forgotten.

She shivered.

Thank goodness the Oompa Loompa's had found her, she didn't fancy becoming another lost thing in this wonderous but eerie abyss.

They reached the bottom of the junk pile and Em let out a relieved sigh when her feet touched solid ground, her Oompa Loompa rescuer still guiding her through the darkness.

They walked for about five minutes more, skirting the edge of the clutter, the Oompa Loompa's torch their only source of light, a ghostly silence settling over the room, save for their footsteps.

She resisted the urge to giggle, despite her current situation, when the second Oompa Loompa reappeared, the light from his torch back on and swinging madly as he ran towards them, his tiny legs working furiously.

They were both dressed in the same baggy, deep blue overalls that the workers in the Inventing Room had been wearing, the uniform appearing almost black in the gloom.

The Oompa Loompa's began to chatter hurriedly as they walked, Em unable to make out a single word. She thought she heard 'wonkata,' which she assumed could be referring to Mr. Wonka, and 'bucketa,' the same word that they had been calling earlier – perhaps that was an attempt at Bucket?

"Excuse me?" she ventured, interrupting as politely as she could. The two men looked up at her obligingly, the Oompa Loompa that had been guiding her dropping her hand momentarily to rummage through his many pockets, his torch gripped in his mouth. She pointed to herself. "Bucketa?" she asked, dubiously.

The second Oompa Loompa nodded eagerly, pointing a long finger at her.

"Bucketa, Bucketa!" he cheered as his friend placed his torch on the floor, apparently still searching for something. The excited Oompa Loompa then pointed to himself. "Lampa," he said, watching her expectantly, waiting for her to do the same.

"Lampa?" she responded, pointing hesitantly towards him. Yes, she could speak German, but she didn't have a clue about Loompa language.

"Lampa!" he agreed, smiling proudly up at her, before pointing at his friend. "Macas," he recited once more. She mirrored him and pointed to the other Oompa Loompa.

"Macas," she repeated, more confidently this time. The Oompa Loompa clapped his hands in appreciation, his torch falling out of his hands and rolling away noisily.

"Lampa and Macus," she smiled to herself, nodding in agreement. "Wait till Charlie hears that I made friends with some Oompa Loompas!"

Lampa began to talk to her excitedly in his native tongue and Em could only smile politely back. He seemed to think that if she could grasp names, she could hold a full conversation. He was, unfortunately, mistaken.

He fell silent, however, as a minuscule clang reverberated through the room, the noise drawing the Oompa Loompa's attention, Macus' head shooting up as he patted down his seventh pocket.

"Aha!"

Macas hurried over to where the torch had finally stopped rolling, apparently convinced it was the source of the noise.

Em watched in confusion as he searched the empty area, Lampa following and gesturing for her to do the same. The two Oompa Loompas looked like they were waiting for something to happen, and just as she was about to ask what was going on they took a large step forward. They looked at her expectantly.

"Bucketa," Macas called, waving her over with his hand.

She looked at him in confusion before following, searching for whatever it was that they could see. She reached them and took a cautious step forward, her feet hesitant as she walked, waiting to trod on something she couldn't see.

She stood between them, unsure if this was some kind of game they were playing. Lampa reached a hand out seemed to press something mid-air, Em's brows drawing together as she heard a clicking sound.

Stretching up onto his tiptoes, Macas reached his hand up, his fingers fumbling through the air, searching for something else.

She watched with growing confusion, a surprised gasp escaping her lips when a small ring of light appeared beneath one of his fingers, floating eerily in the darkness. He looked at Lampa cheerfully before turning to face Em with a smile.

"What's going –"

But Em's question got lost in her throat, her knees buckling as the three of them hurtled upwards through the air. She threw her hands out involuntarily, searching for anything to grab hold of in order to avoid falling flat on her face. Her palm connected with something hard and cool, flat against her hand. She grasped her fingers across the invisible surface and tried to steady herself, her palms sweating and slipping across the polished surface.

Just as she regained some of her balance, she careered into another invisible wall as they swiftly changed direction, this time shooting forward, rather than up. Her knees really did give way this time and she collapsed onto the floor, the endless blackness beneath her threatening to swallow her whole once again.

She glanced around wildly, the two Oompa Loompa's leaning casually against invisible walls, talking animatedly to one another, unaware of her predicament.

She winced as a bright light appeared ahead of them, growing substantially bigger with each passing second they spent charging through the air.

Was she dying? Had she actually died during her fall down the garbage chute? Was she on her way to heaven _?_

She shook off the ridiculous thoughts and backed herself into an unseen corner, bracing herself against the wall.

They plunged unceremoniously into the light and Em blinked rapidly, willing her watery eyes to adjust once more.

Free from the blackness of their previous scenery, Em could finally make out what it was she was standing in, or rather, cowering in.

It was a rectangular, glass box, completely see through, its walls and ceiling filled to the brim with buttons, each one labelled with a different room name. She glanced up at the illuminated button Macas had pushed and saw the words 'Reception' printed clearly.

She attempted to stand, hoisting herself up as best she could against the smooth glass, her surroundings blurred by the sheer speed they were travelling.

"What is this?" she inquired, squeezing herself further into the corner in an attempt to keep her balance, gesturing around with her head.

Lampa looked at her curiously before pointing to a piece of writing above the doors they had entered through. She squinted at the small words etched into the glass.

"The Great Glass Elevator," she read aloud, her stomach churning as the elevator took another sharp dive downwards. She tried desperately to keep her balance, her feet sliding out from under her as they careered – she could only assume – through the factory.

She closed her eyes tightly and willed the ride to stop.

She prayed it would be over soon. She prayed Charlie would be waiting for her when she got off. She prayed he would forgive her for ruining his tour.

She played these thoughts over and over in her head, trying to drown out the nauseating elevator ride, but she couldn't help one final thought that kept sneaking its way into her head amongst the others.

She hoped Mr. Wonka would be waiting for her, too.


	10. The Reunion

The nightmarish elevator ride eventually came to a welcome stop, Em clambering out of the contraption as quickly as her shaky legs would allow. Macas and Lampa bid her a cheery goodbye before speeding off into the distance and she hoped that would be the last she ever saw of the damned elevator.

She glanced down at her dress and was pleased to note it wasn't half as dirty as she'd expected. She pulled the sleeves of her cardigan down and brushed off a cloud of dirt from her shoulder.

After a quick look around, she headed down the only corridor she could see, ignoring the butterflies currently fluttering in her stomach. As she passed a line of large windows she spotted the sun setting in the distance; she smiled sadly – their day in the factory was almost up, and she'd managed to spend the last of it stuck in a pile of rubbish. She was grateful, however, for the warm glow of the evening sun on her skin.

She reached the end of the corridor and felt her heart begin to race. She could hear Mr. Wonka talking to Charlie, their voices animated and lively, just off to her right. She heard the chocolatier laugh and grinned to herself, noting once again that the noise sent a shiver of warmth down her spine. She straightened her dress as best she could and made one last attempt to run her fingers through her hair, happy to note that it felt soft and smooth against her hands, with no bits of rubbish hiding amongst the strands.

With newfound confidence, she followed the sound of their voices, her brother's face instantly lighting up as she rounded the corner.

"Em!" he cried, running past a surprised Mr. Wonka to give her a rib cracking hug. Mr. Wonka turned, his face morphing into a huge grin as he spotted Em.

"My dear Ms. Bucket, thank goodness you're alright."

Em hugged Charlie tightly, her little brother clinging on to her. Her eyes found Mr. Wonka's unfaltering gaze and she felt the colour rushing to her cheeks.

"Charlie," she sighed, "I'm so sorry, I ruined your tour." She looked down at him sadly, hopeful that her brother would forgive her.

"Are you kidding?" he laughed, pulling away from her. "Em, we won! We won the competition!"

She looked at him in shock before looking to Mr. Wonka. The man nodded in agreement, laughing at Charlie's excitement and Em's bewildered expression.

"Indeed you did, Buckets!" he clapped his hands together and placed a supportive hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Charlie," he motioned to her brother, "why don't you go and get it, to show your sister?"

"Get what?" she queried, intrigued.

"Oh, all in good time!" laughed Mr. Wonka, the sound making her stomach backflip over and over.

"Great idea!" concurred Charlie, rushing past her and out of sight.

Em watched her brother disappear, overjoyed to see him so happy. She turned back to the chocolatier, shocked by his sudden proximity.

"Em," he breathed, his hand resting gently on her elbow.

She gazed up into his dazzling blue eyes. The sound of her name on his lips the sweetest noise she had ever heard; her name had never sounded so beautiful.

She tensed as his eyes flicked down to her lips. Was he about to kiss her?

She closed her eyes in anticipation, waiting for the glorious moment their lips would connect.

"… Bucketa?"

She opened her eyes suddenly, aware that she had once again let herself get caught up in thoughts of Mr. Wonka.

Lampa was looking at her with interest whilst Macas was up on his tiptoes again, reaching for another button. She noted, with relief, that the elevator had indeed stopped this time, their journey finally over.

She pushed herself dizzily out of the corner of the elevator, her arms and legs sore from bracing so hard against the glass. She swayed on the spot, regaining her balance before stepping clumsily though the open doors and out of the lift.

The Oompa Loompas waved as the glass doors closed behind her, the elevator abruptly disappearing into the air and out of sight.

She studied the hallway she had been deposited in, the walls and floor a cold cement grey. Small windows were positioned high above her head, giving the distinct sense of a prison compound. She shuddered and pulled her cardigan tight around her small frame, dismayed to note that one of the sleeves had frayed.

She walked ahead silently, her footsteps echoing sharply through the narrow corridor. She was led around several bends, the white fluorescent light form the ceiling making it hard to distinguish how far she'd walked; it felt like she was going around in circles. Knowing the factory, she probably was.

"Em!" hollered Charlie as she rounded yet another corner.

She felt her face break into a huge grin and ran towards her little brother, her arms outstretched, relief flooding though her.

"Oh, Charlie, thank goodness you're okay!" She planted a huge kiss on the top of his head, his sandy blonde hair tickling her nose.

"Me?!" he challenged, shaking off her kiss. "Thank goodness _you're_ okay! Where have you been?!" Charlie pulled away from her slightly, his nose crinkling. "And you _stink."_

"Charming," she laughed, "and you don't even want to know." She pulled him into another hug, grimacing at the thought of what she could possibly be covered in all together. "Where's Mr. Wonka? What are you doing here?"

"Oh." Charlie's face fell slightly as he pulled away from her. "Mr. Wonka's in there," he gestured to a nearby door. "But I think he's angry at me."  
"What? Nonsense," frowned Em dismissively, "why on earth would he be angry at you? And where's everyone else?"

"Oh, well Veruca and her dad got taken away by some Oompa Loompas. Mr. Wonka was really angry about what happened," Charlie looked up at her seriously. "I thought you were gonna die Em, I thought he'd pushed you into the furnace."

Em looked at her brother sadly.

"I'm sorry Charlie, I should have never gone in there. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay," smiled Charlie. "At least you know Mr. Wonka likes you back now." His smile turned into a cheeky grin and Em looked at him in bewilderment, her own expression morphing into one of dismay.

"Charlie!" she hissed in embarrassment as her brother giggled.

"What! He was really angry that Mr. Salt did that to you! That must mean he cares a –"

"Shh you!" she half ordered, half pleaded as her brother teased her. She pushed all thoughts of Mr. Wonka away and tried to distract her brother. "And where's Mike? And his mum?"

"Oh," Charlie sobered up. "Mike Teevee shrunk himself."

"He what?!"

"I'll explain later," dismissed Charlie, his mouth suddenly turning down into a frown. He took a deep breath and continued. "I just figured, since I was the only one left, you know, that maybe that meant I'd won the competition." Em nodded in agreement. "But then Mr. Wonka just came here," Charlie gestured to a rickety chair he'd been sitting on, "and told me to wait for you, then he said we should see ourselves out."

"He said that?" asked Em, her mind working furiously. That didn't sound like something Mr. Wonka would say. Perhaps he needed to speak to Em alone? Charlie had been very upset after all.

"Yeah, he said he's really busy."

Em glanced at the door labelled 'Office' and frowned.

"That doesn't sound right. Wait here, I'll go and ask."

Em felt butterflies as she approached the door. Perhaps he'd be relieved to see her alive and well? He might even go so far as to hug her, to smile and jubilate at her safe return. She glanced down at her dress and grimaced; not quite the fairytale reunion she had imagined…

"Mr. Wonka?" Em ventured, poking her head tentatively around the door.

Mr. Wonka's bizarre office came into view, a curious room full of objects, each and every one of them cut in half; from the desk to the coat rack to the very chair he was sitting on.

"I am extraordinarily busy, Ms. Bucket."

She balked slightly at his short reply, unnerved by the formality of his voice and the unusualness of his office.

"I – I just wanted to ask about Charlie's prize," she stuttered, entering the office slowly and holding the door ajar behind her. "As the winner of the competition? How does he –"

"He doesn't get anything."

Em stared at the back of his head in shocked silence, his golden orange curls free from the confines of his top hat. She felt Charlie enter the office behind her and she reached a steadying hand back to stop him.

"I'm sorry?" she queried, not quite believing his words.

"He broke the rules. No prize."

Mr. Wonka didn't look up from the papers on his desk. Didn't even acknowledge the fact that Em had made it safely out of the garbage chute.

"Rules? I don't understand –"

"Ms. Bucket –"

"Please, Mr. Wonka, Em's only asking because –" Charlie tried to intervene, pushing past Em's outstretched arm and further into the office.

"Look Emma or – whatever your name is," Mr. Wonka stammered in annoyance. "He signed a contract. I stated very clearly at the beginning of the tour that –"

"Emily."

"What?" Mr. Wonka finally looked up at the interruption, a deep frowned etched across his once handsome face, his sparkling blue eyes dark and vehement.

"My name is Emily," she spat out the words, a little fiercer than intended.

She was hurt and shocked and beginning to feel like she might cry, but she didn't want to be rude. She hated rude people, and she was slowly coming to realise that the man she'd met this morning, the man she'd shared the day with, the man she'd found herself falling for, was nothing but rude; the cheeky grins, the jokes, the mischievous glint in his eyes, all had been replaced by this cruel stranger. All had been a farce.

Mr. Wonka looked at her, his brows drawing together like he was regarding a stranger.

"Emily, Emma, it really doesn't matter," he shook his head, "it doesn't change the fact that you and your brother so carelessly drank fizzy lifting drinks -"

Em stopped listening but her eyes stayed locked with his. They were full of anger. His mouth was still moving but she wasn't hearing any words. She wanted to curl up into a ball; she wanted to go home. His voice cut through her. "If you'll so kindly see yourself out, I have a lot of paperwork to get through."

Em watched him in silence as he returned his focus to his desk. She willed her legs to move, still in a state of shock at such an unhappy turn of events.

She heard a sniff from behind her and she felt her heart break even more. She glanced back at her brother, tears swimming in his eyes.

He looked up at Em for guidance, but she could only stare back at him, stunned into silence by Mr. Wonka's response.

"Goodbye, Mr. Wonka," Charlie sniffed. "Thank you for showing us around. We're sorry for any damage we've caused," he mumbled, hopeful for a response from his hero.

Mr. Wonka didn't even acknowledge his apology.

Em felt Charlie's hand slip into hers as he pulled her away. They made their way silently out of the office, the door closing behind them with a finality that crushed both the sibling's dreams.

Em could hear a rushing in her ears. She held back her tears, walking purposefully down the hall, away from all of this. Away from the nightmarish factory and false promises. Away from _him._

"Em?"

"Yeah Charlie?" Em sighed as her brother tugged at her cardigan. She just wanted to leave so she could throw herself onto her bed and cry.

"I don't want this." He held out his hand and presented her with his everlasting gobstopper.

All of a sudden, Slugworth's words rang through Em's head and the promise of wealth and fortune swam forward in her mind. She stared longingly at the gobstopper sitting innocently in her brother's hand.

"Are you sure, Charlie?" Her family could live a happy, easy life, the life she'd always strived to give them. Their parents deserved so much more than they had. Their grandparents deserved proper food, not just watered-down cabbage soup, and proper beds, and a house with a proper roof that didn't leak when it rained.

"I'd never forgive myself if we gave it to Slugworth, even if Mr. Wonka has been horrible. I don't want him to lose his factory."

Em smiled sadly at her brother as she took the gobstopper.

"Wait here, I'll be back in a sec."

She walked quickly back down the corridor, dreading seeing the man again. Summoning up all her courage she knocked sharply on the door – perhaps a little too forcefully, but she put it down to nerves, the gobstopper clutched tightly in her hand.

"Come in," a voice called.

She took a deep breath and pushed the door open slowly.

"Mr. Wonka? I just wanted to –"

"Ms. Bucket, I do not have the time nor the energy to deal with this matter any further. Please vacate my factory." He continued to read through the papers on his desk.

"We're leaving," she assured him, "Charlie just wanted you to have this back." She placed the gobstopper gently on his desk, proud of her brother's decision but mournful nonetheless.

She willed the man to look at her just one last time.

As much as she despised him, after everything he'd done and said to her and her brother, she wanted one final look at his eyes. His beautiful, mesmerising eyes. Eyes that had once promised friendship and, had it been possible, affection? Eyes that now screamed at her to leave and to never return.

"It would be wrong to keep it, knowing how much we disappointed you."

She took a step back and waited for his response. He didn't even look at the gobstopper, let alone her.

"Goodbye, Mr. Wonka. Thank you for everything."

She turned to leave, tears finally breaking free and falling silently down her cheeks. She reached the door and tugged it open forcefully, longing for her mother's arms and her father's soothing voice.

"Ms. Bucket."

She paused at his voice, gripping the door handle tightly. Her heart was imploring her to turn around and beg for his forgiveness, but her brain was telling her it was simply one final attempt at another cruel dismissal. Of course it was the latter.

"Em."

She faltered, her breath catching in her throat as she released the door.

She thought back to earlier, when she had daydreamed about their reunion; how glorious her name had sounded on his lips, how magical it had felt to be so connected to him. Now the word sounded ugly coming from such a cruel man, one who had not only broken her own heart with trickery and manipulation, but her brother's as well. For that, she would never forgive him.

Without a second glance, she tugged the door open.

"You don't get to call me that," she whispered, her words firm despite the tears rolling down her cheeks.

She heard the door to the office close behind her, a welcome finality to the sound. She walked blindly forward, Charlie's hand finding hers once again.

"Em?" he asked, his voice full of moisture, "are you okay?"

"I will be Charlie," she summoned a smile as she glanced down at her brother. "Now, let's get out of here. I never want to see another Wonka bar again."

* * *

He watched the door close in silence, his hand still outstretched, a lilac satin handkerchief crumpling in his palm.

He exhaled, his arm dropping lamely to his side.

"Well, that didn't go to plan."


	11. The Candy Store

It was a chilly October afternoon in the bustling town center. The temperature had dropped significantly over night, leaving the roads icy and the shop-fronts frosty, their warm, welcome glow beckoning shoppers inside like moths to a flame.

A newspaper, tossed hastily into a garbage can by a pair of frozen hands, bore the headline 'Violet's Turned Violet – Wonka Must Pay', accompanied by a photo of a young girl stood with her mother, the glamorous pair staring angrily at the camera. What the black and white photo didn't show, however, was the daughter's current complexion – an unusual, albeit unique, shade of purple.

The pages of the newspaper fluttered in the breeze as a group of mothers hurried past, their screaming children eyeing up the Candy Store across the street.

A young woman could be seen in the storefront window, her apron tied neatly around her waist and her mousy brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, her arms sore from stacking shelves all morning.

Em heaved the final box of Wonka bars onto the counter and began stacking them, a little more forcefully than necessary.

Bill looked over from the till, the rhythmic 'thwack' of chocolate on wood drawing his attention. He eyed Em apprehensively, his mouth turning down into a frown.

"Em, do you mind taking it easy with those Wonka bars?" he requested, cringing at a particularly loud smack. "It's better if they're all in one piece when we sell them."

Em glanced over her shoulder apologetically, her trance broken.

"Sorry Bill, I wasn't concentrating on what I was doing," she confessed, looking back to the box of chocolate bars. The Wonka logo glared up at her mockingly and she frowned. "I just don't get why we have to sell Wonka's stuff," she groaned, resuming her work, more gently this time.

"You do realise you work in a sweet shop right?" joked Bill, coming to stack the shelves with her. "We've gotta sell the sweets for this whole operation to work."

Em looked at him dryly, rolling her eyes.

"There are other candies out there," she argued. "Wonka's not the only person who makes sweets."

Bill looked at her doubtfully, his eyebrow raised challengingly. She continued.

"Slugworth Chocolates?" she suggested uncertainly, Bill shaking his head as he smiled, Em admitting defeat.

"Slugworth's stuff tastes like cat litter and you and I both know it." He patted her on the back, returning to the till as the shop bell rang. Em heard Bill's customary greeting as she stared once again at the Wonka logo.

It had been two days since their trip to the factory. Two days of journalists and reporters turning up at their house, begging Em and Charlie to sit down and chat with them; "vultures, the lot of 'em!" hollered their Grandpa Joe from his bed, shaking an angry fist towards the front door. Two days of the phone ringing off the hook with newspapers offering good money for the Bucket sibling's first-hand account of the tour. Two hideous days of thinking non-stop about Willy Wonka, and now here she was, stacking his candy bars like he wasn't the most unpleasant man she had ever met, and she'd met Mr. Salt, so that was saying something.

The reporters seemed to have finally given up, however, their attention focused instead on the Beauregard family and the allegations they were throwing at Wonka and his chocolate factory. Mrs. Beauregard was refusing to return to Montana, USA until her daughter got 'the justice she deserved' – cue a bombardment of eyelash fluttering and pouting sadly at the camera.

Em grimaced and slammed a Wonka bar down, the chocolate bar snapping under her fingers with a woeful crunch.

She glanced sheepishly over her shoulder towards Bill and he looked at her skeptically.

"Sorry," she sighed, "take it out of my paycheck."

He shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, I'll let you off," he crossed his arms and observed her for a moment, his brows knitting together. "Wonka really did you wrong, didn't he?"

She groaned.

"Oh Bill, like you wouldn't believe."

She looked at her boss sadly, yet to divulge the full story to anyone other than her parents and grandparents.

"Don't let him get you down Em," advised Bill, making his way around the counter. "It's called the past for a reason, try and forget about it."

She hummed her agreement, turning back to her work.

"I'm just popping over to the bank." Bill grabbed his coat from the storeroom. "Do you need anything?"

"No, thanks Bill," she shook her head disinterestedly, dropping the last Wonka bar onto the shelf and folding up the empty box.

"You'll be alright holding up shop on your own?" he inquired, opening the front door, the cold winds from outside rushing in and snaking around Em's ankles.

Em glanced around the empty shop before staring doubtfully at Bill.

"Yeah, I think I can manage" she quipped, grinning as Bill rolled his eyes.

"The sass!" he cried as the door banged closed behind him. Em let out a short laugh before disposing of the empty box behind the counter.

She sighed as she took in the deserted store; with all the bad press Wonka was getting lately, no one was really interested in his candy at the moment, resulting in very boring shifts at work. _Serves him right,_ she thought, bitterly.

She headed to the storeroom to grab a bottle of water, the shop bell ringing moments later.

"I'll be with you in one second!" she called, tightening her ponytail out of habit.

She emerged from the storeroom, a lone customer browsing the neatly stacked shelves of candy. He was dressed in a large, dark coat, a long fleece scarf wrapped securely around his neck and pulled all the way over his nose, a woolen hat perched low on his head. His heftily padded gloves fumbled with the chocolate bars, his stooped frame browsing the lower shelves gingerly.

"Can I help you with anything?" she asked politely, as he grappled with a large Scrumdiddlyumptious bar.

The man shook his head, deciding instead to grab a Slugworth's Sizzler from a small display in the window. He shuffled slowly over to Em and placed it on the counter.

"Good choice," she commended, running the item through the till. She watched as the man removed one of his large gloves, his hands slight under all the padding. "Cold out?" she queried, nodding to all his layers.

He grunted in agreement, disinterested in her attempt at small talk.

"Is that everything?" she coaxed, expecting another grunt in response.

"You're that girl aren't you, from that tour at Wonka's?" His voice was gruff and brute like. She was taken aback by his sudden interest.

"I'm sorry sir I don't know what you mean," she tried to dismiss his question.

"Yeah, you are," he persisted, his voice hoarse. "You and your brother went on that tour with the other kids, with those golden tickets –"

"I don't want to talk about it, thank you," she cut him off curtly, "now will that be everything?"

He glanced up at her, his sallow eyes hidden in the shadows beneath his wooly hat.

"Would you be willing to talk about what went on in there? I could –"

"Absolutely not," she snapped, trying hard to keep her demeanor professional. "Now, would you like your items or not?" She slammed the Slugworth bar on the counter in an attempt to silence him.

He looked taken aback at her response, eventually nodding silently in agreement.

"Perfect," she nodded curtly, "that'll be seventy pence, please." She held out her hand expectantly, the man fumbling a hand through his pockets.

"I, uh, I'm sorry," he stammered, putting his glove back on clumsily, "I must have left my wallet at home." Em watched him quizzically as he backed away, his items forgotten on the counter. "Apologies." He turned to leave, turning back to her as he reached the door, his gloved hand reaching up to his head and grabbing at the air as he bowed slightly. "Good day."

Em watched in confusion at the bizarre display. It was almost as if he'd gone to tip his hat to her, the way a gentleman would when bidding a lady goodbye. As he pulled the door open the penny dropped, her eyes narrowing bitterly.

"Hold it, one second," she called, the man stiffening instantly. "I've changed my mind, I will talk to you about Wonka."

He turned to face her slowly, his stooped body watching and waiting, the shop door swinging closed once again.

"Go on," he urged, nervously.

She smirked, leaning her elbows on the counter casually.

"The world needs to know what an awful man he is; his factory's a mess, he's incredibly rude – a deeply unpleasant man if you ask me, and don't even get me started on his poor workers. He mistreats them like you wouldn't believe, forcing them –"

"I do not!"

She raised an eyebrow at the interruption, the man in the doorway suddenly standing straight and striding over to her, the gruffness in his voice gone.

"I do not mistreat the Oompa Loompa's and you know it!"

"Way to blow your cover." She eyed him disdainfully, leaning back from the counter and crossing her arms.

Wonka looked at her in confusion before realising his mistake. He sighed and lowered his scarf in defeat, glowering at her.

"You knew it was me."

"Unfortunately," she responded, stony faced. "Now please, continue on your way." She gestured to the door before turning her back on him.

"Em, please, listen –"

"I asked you not to call me that," she snapped, turning to scowl at him.

He sighed, his eyes searching hers imploringly.

"Sorry, I mean Emily," he continued, "please listen to me, this has all just been a big misunderstanding."

She scoffed at him, unimpressed.

"It was just a test," he urged.

She looked at him in disbelief.

"A test?" she asked, incredulously; of all the excuses he could have given, this was the best he could do? "What kind of sick person puts a child through –"

"I had to do it," he interrupted her, an urgency in his voice. "I had to be sure Charlie was the right person to run my factory, and he was! He is! Of course he is! I just had to be sure!"

Em stared at him blankly, suddenly very confused. _Had she heard him right? The right person to do_ what _?_

"I'm sorry, did you just say the right person to _run_ –"

"Run my factory, yes," he nodded eagerly, a relieved smile slowly spreading across his face. "I'm sorry Em – _Emily_ ," he corrected himself. "You have to believe me, please." He removed his wooly hat, his orange curls spilling out freely.

He looked at her pleadingly, his bright blue eyes now clearly visible under the shop lights. He wrung the hat desperately in his hands as he waited her verdict.

Em simply stared at him, his pathetic display tugging mildly at her heartstrings. His apology seemed sincere, but so outlandish. _Charlie was getting the factory?_ she thought in disbelief. An eleven-year-old boy, in charge of such a prolific enterprise? That couldn't be what Wonka was implying, could it?

She was roused from her perplexed jumble of thoughts when a large crowd appeared outside, the bright flashes from many cameras blinking off the frosted glass as excited voices yelled and cat called.

"Get down," she ordered instantly, lifting the counter top and gesturing for the man to follow.

If there were cameras that could mean one of three things; either the reporters had somehow found out that Wonka was here and were about to accost him; the reporters were here once again to hound Em and attempt to force an interview out of her; or they were following someone through the town, and she had a good idea who it was they could be following.

"I'm sorry?" questioned Wonka, not quite the response he had been expecting, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion,

"Just get behind the counter for goodness sake," she hissed. "And stay quiet."

He obeyed, scrambling forward quickly and ducking out of sight, the door to the shop opening seconds after Em lowered the flap.

"What a pleasant surprise, Mrs. Beauregard," lied Em breathlessly as the woman strolled in, the cameras waiting patiently, like a pack of hungry wolves, for her return. She could sense the chocolatier looking up at her and refrained from sending a well-earned kick in his direction.

"Can it, Bucket," she drawled, removing her sunglasses to glare at Em.

Em stared back, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. _Rude, rude, rude..._

"And what can I do for you today?" She plastered a fake smile onto her face, willing the woman to leave.

"I'll make this simple for you," she pouted, "either you bring Wonka down with me, or I bring you both down together. Get it?"

Em looked at her blankly, her proposition taking her completely by surprise. Mrs. Beauregard's eyes examined her from head to toe, her lip curling slightly in disgust.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand what you mean." She shifted uncomfortably under the woman's scrutiny.

"Oh please, it was obvious to everyone on that tour that the two of you had feelings for each other." Em felt her cheeks go red, suddenly very aware that the other person in question was currently sat at her feet, listening to every word. "I wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing was rigged in the first place," the woman continued, oblivious to Em's discomfort. "You want me to keep that little secret out of the papers? Tell everyone he tricked Vi into eating that gum."

The shop bell rang merrily, the sound slicing through Em's thoughts as the chatter of the reporters floated through the shop. Em glanced to the door and spotted Bill shrugging off his coat.

"Jeeze, I don't know what's going on out there!" exclaimed Bill as he folded his coat over his arm. "I – oh, sorry," he spotted Mrs. Beauregard and Em, the two of them stony faced from their exchange. "Everything okay here Em?"

"Yes, don't worry Bill," bluffed Em, not wanting to lose face in front of her aggressor. "Mrs. Beauregard, you're asking me to lie. Everyone saw Violet take that gum from the machine, Mr. Wonka even went so far as go tell her not to."

"Oh, don't give me all that 'Mr. Wonka' crap –"

"Hey, watch your language," demanded Bill. "I'll have to ask you to leave."

Mrs. Beauregard ignored him, continuing her onslaught.

"I bet you were in on it too, weren't you? Yeah, of course, it's all making sense now," she smiled cruelly. Em really couldn't disagree more, and she could feel the chocolatier tensing at her feet. She pressed the ball of her foot warningly on top of his own, opening her mouth to retaliate; she was cut off. "Forget it, you're on his side, clearly. He's probably paid you off already hasn't he. Promised you a kiss if you keep quiet –"

"That's enough! Get out of my store!" roared Bill, taking a threatening step forward.

The woman jumped, her sunglasses falling from her hand and clattering nosily against the floor. Em sensed the chocolatier make a move to stand up and she kicked out her foot, her toes connecting with something hard, a small groan sounding from his spot on the floor.

Mrs. Beauregard picked up her sunglasses hurriedly, her high heels clicking firmly across the wooden floor. She didn't give Em a second glance as she heaved the door open and disappeared into the sea of flashing lights, the bell signaling her exit.

Em let out a shaky breath as the door closed, her shoulders slumping and her palms sweating.

"Em, are you alright?" questioned Bill, concerned, rushing over to where she stood. "What on _earth_ was all that about?"

Em opened her mouth, about to thank Bill for intervening, but she was cut off by none other than –

"What a hideous _cow_."

Bill jumped back in fright as the chocolatier appeared next to Em, the man's mouth pulled down in a severe frown as he glared angrily at the door Mrs. Beauregard had just exited through.

"Who are _you?!"_ exclaimed Bill, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Where – where did you come from?!"

Em looked frustratedly at the chocolatier before turning stiffly to her boss, all hopes of simply forgetting the man in question and moving on with her life vanishing as quickly as candy bar in the Gloop household.

"Bill," she sighed apathetically, "meet Mr. Wonka."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all enjoying this crazy little story, please leave a comment if you're feeling lovely, or if you have any ideas for adventures you'd like to see this lot get up to in the future!


	12. The Bucket House

As the sun began to set over the little town, the cold October air persisted, forcing its way through every nook and cranny it could find. Evening shoppers wrapped themselves up against the bitter wind whilst smoke from miniature chimneys traced silvery lines across the dusk sky.

Two individuals could be seen making their way through the emptying streets, both bundled in thick coats, the smaller of the two protecting her hands by shielding them in her pockets. The other walked with a faltering step, a dark woollen hat pulled guardingly over his head. They were headed towards the edge of town, where only a few houses remained, most of which were old and abandoned, long forgotten by the townsfolk.

"Why are you limping?" she quizzed as they walked through the quiet streets, their breath billowing out like puffs of smoke.

"Because you kicked me," he defended, glancing at her from under his woollen hat. "In the shin," he added, and, after a momentary pause, "hard."

Em could sense him staring pointedly at her.

"Sorry," she mumbled, guilt nibbling at her insides. "You were going to give yourself away," she explained, "I had to."

She heard Mr. Wonka chuckle to himself and she scowled at the pavement.

This morning she had positively despised the man, and yet here she was, leading him willingly to her family home. He had worked his magical charm once again.

"My family won't be very happy to see you, I hope you realise," she warned, already dreading the moment.

"Well of course. How can I blame them?"

Em studied him briefly, his fair cheeks rosy from the cold, his expression thoughtful as he gazed into the distance. He sensed her staring and turned to look at her, Em focussing once again on the pavement in front of her.

"Emily," he resumed after a long silence, "about what Mrs. Beauregard said, back in the shop –"

Em felt her cheeks start to burn and she shrugged her shoulders in embarrassment.

"Please, Mr. Wonka, you don't have to explain," she babbled. "What she said was inappropriate and completely misguided." She looked at him assuredly. "She can tell the papers all the lies she wants, I'm not worried about what she thinks she saw or what she thought was going on between us."

She looked away once again and bit her lip worriedly. She didn't want to ruin this again for Charlie, not after everything he'd been through, and admitting she was developing feelings for the man who was planning on mentoring him was a big step in the wrong direction.

"She's just jealous that her daughter actually didn't win something for once," she joked awkwardly, "she's making up ridiculous lies."

"Yes, I suppose so," mused Mr. Wonka, sounding unsatisfied with her response.

Em couldn't tell if he was watching her or watching the path ahead; thankfully she was saved the trouble of finding out as her trusted, ramshackle home came into view, the small glow emanating from a crumbling window a welcome sight.

She took a deep breath as they approached the front door.

"Well, this is it."

Mr. Wonka followed her gaze and took a steadying breath of his own, removing his gloves and scarf in an attempt to make himself look slightly more presentable.

"Once more unto the breach dear friends."

Em looked at him quizzically, her lips drawing up into a slight smile.

"They won't _kill_ you," she assured.

"Well, Ms. Bucket, let's hope you're right."

* * *

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet Mr. Wonka."

Em looked around the meagre room cautiously, gauging her family's reaction.

She was currently stood in the doorway of their rickety house, the biting cold seeping in through the walls despite the tiny fire burning gaily in the corner; Mr. Wonka stood nervously beside her, a hesitant smile plastered across his personable face.

"Who?" yelped her Grandma Josephine doubtfully as her other grandparents let out disgruntled murmurs from their wobbly bed.

Her mother stared at her blankly, standing up from her seat at their narrow dining table, the cabbage she had been slicing rolling onto its side, abandoned.

"Emily, what is this? Why is he here?"

"Mrs. Bucket please forgive my intrusion," Mr. Wonka apologised, taking a step forward and removing his hat. "I'm here to speak with Charlie."

"He's out with his father, and I suggest you leave before they get back," her mother warned, taking a step away from the man. "Get out of my house."

"Mum!" wheezed Em in shock. She had expected them to react negatively to the man that had made her and her brother so miserable, but she had never heard her mother threaten someone before.

"No, Emily. This man treated you and your brother hideously, or have you forgotten that?" She stared at her sternly. "I don't want him in my home."

"Here, here!" piped up Grandpa Joe, Grandpa George jeering his hands nastily in agreement. Grandma Georgina clicked her knitting needles threateningly and Em's eyes went wide.

"All of you, stop!" cried Em, exasperatedly, taking a step further into the room. "Please, just listen to what he has to say. It's," she paused, "I was wrong, about what I thought happened. You can't be angry at Mr. Wonka."

"Oh, but on the contrary, they have every right to be angry with me," chimed Mr. Wonka, turning to Em with a simple smile.

Her mother looked at Mr. Wonka in bewilderment before nodding fervently in agreement.

"I do, however, beg that you listen to my explanation," he continued, Mrs. Bucket's bobbing head coming to a stop, "as it was never my intention to hurt Charlie, or Emily," he looked at her politely. "Once I have made myself clear I will gladly leave you in peace."

Her mother watched him suspiciously, her eyes narrowing.

"Go on," she instructed.

He obliged. Em listened once again as Mr. Wonka explained his elaborate plan, her mother's eyes growing steadily wider, her jaw dropping comically. Her grandparents listened intently from their bed, the four of them engrossed in his story.

"So, to be clear, my factory is Charlie's special prize," Mr. Wonka finished, smiling at them all simply.

Her mother stared at him in shock.

"You're joking."

"I would never jest about such a serious matter, Mrs. Bucket, I can assure you."

"I can't believe this," she sighed, lowering herself once again into her seat at the table, a shaky hand coming to rest over her heart. "Charlie can't run a factory. He's only a child, and we haven't got the money, and, and, he's – he's got school –"

"Pardon my interruption, Mrs. Bucket, but I can assure you that Charlie's education is my top priority," vowed Mr. Wonka. "He can continue his schoolwork outside his work in the factory. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Mum," soothed Em, coming to sit next to her doubtful mother, "this is Charlie's dream. It's everything he's ever wanted."

"I know, Emily, that's why I'm so overwhelmed." Her mother's voice cracked, and she let out a joyful sob, her hand covering her mouth in awe.

Em felt a lump rising in her own throat and swallowed it down, her eyes lighting up as she grinned at the chocolatier.

"Mr. Wonka, you don't know what this means."

"Truly, I do, Mrs. Bucket," he smiled reassuringly. "Charlie is the most deserving young boy I've ever had the pleasure to meet. It would be an honour to work with him."

"Here, here!" sniffed Grandpa Joe once again, dabbing his eyes with the corner of the bedsheet.

Em laughed and made her way to her grandparents fondly, perching herself supportively on the bed as she removed her coat.

"Just wait till Charlie gets home, he'll be so thrilled," beamed Grandma Georgina to nods of agreement.

As if on cue, the wobbly door to their home groaned open and Charlie and his father appeared.

Charlie smiled as he spotted Em, shrugging off his own oversized coat. His face fell, however, as he spotted Mr. Wonka.

"What are you doing here?" he asked offensively, his innocent eyes full of distrust, his coat dropping to the floor.

"Charlie –"

"Get out of my house!" Mr. Bucket lunged at the man, his fists grabbing the collar of Mr. Wonka's coat tightly. "Don't you ever talk to my son again, or my daughter, not after what you did!"

"Dad!"

"Nathan!"

Em and her mother chorused in unison as Mr. Wonka stumbled backwards in shock, his slight frame crashing into one of the many beams holding the house up. The building let out an ominous creak as Mr. Wonka held his hands up in surrender.

"Nathan, calm down!" urged Mrs. Bucket, her chair clattering to the floor as she stood up sharply

"Dad it's okay! Let him explain!" begged Em, jumping up with her mother. "Charlie won!"

"I – I what?" stammered Charlie, his eyes flicking from Em to his father, before finally settling on Mr. Wonka.

Mr. Wonka, still pinned roughly against the wooden beam behind his back, looked down earnestly at Charlie.

"Charlie, my boy, forgive me, please forgive me."

Mr. Bucket's hands loosened as his wife laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I deserved that," he acknowledged, nodding in Mr. Bucket's direction before turning his full attention to Charlie. Em's father looked at her in confusion, but she simply gestured to her brother, encouraging her father to listen.

Charlie looked up at Mr. Wonka, his eyes wide.

"Did you say I won?"

"Yes Charlie, you won," Mr. Wonka smiled before continuing, his eyes studying Charlie attentively. "My factory, did you like it?"

"More than anything in the world, Mr. Wonka." Charlie looked down sadly, clearly remembering the wonderful day he had had, followed by the not so wonderful conclusion.

"Excellent," Mr. Wonka crouched down, craning his head to get a better look at Charlie's face, "because I'm giving it to you."

Charlie's head snapped up in shock and Mr. Wonka smiled.

"That's alright, isn't it?"

"Wh-why?" was all Charlie could stammer, his eyes searching the man's timidly.

"I know I won't be able to go on forever, and I don't really want to try," explained Mr. Wonka, shifting slightly in his crouched position. "Who can I trust to run the factory and take care of the Oompa Loompas for me when I leave? Not a grownup," Mr. Wonka narrowed his eyes and glanced around the room suspiciously, earning a small smile from Charlie and a chuckle from Em. "A grownup would want to do everything his own way, not mine; that's why I decided a long time ago I had to find a child to whom I can tell all my most precious candy making secrets."

"And that's why you sent out the Golden Tickets?" Charlie was enthralled by the man's words, his eyes as large as saucers, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That's right," Mr. Wonka nodded, "in the hope that I'd find someone very honest and incredibly loyal, and I did, Charlie. I never dreamed I would find someone as deserving as you." He placed a hand supportively on Charlie's shoulder. "So, the factory's yours, if you'll have it."

Charlie launched himself at the man, engulfing him in a tremendous hug and sending the two of them sprawling backwards. Em laughed as she clutched her grandfather's hand tightly, her mother letting out a startled cry as the pair skidded across the floor.

Mr. Wonka chuckled as he propped himself up on his elbows.

"Do I take that as a yes?"

"Yes, yes! A hundred times yes!" cheered Charlie as his mother attempted to pull him off the floor.

The room let out a collective laugh as Mr. Wonka smiled, heaving himself up onto his knees, his expression shifting suddenly to one of seriousness.

"But Charlie, don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he wanted."

"What happened?" asked Charlie, suddenly alarmed.

"He lived happily ever after," winked Mr. Wonka, pulling Charlie into a more stable hug.

Em caught her mother's eye and they grinned at each other, Charlie detaching himself from Mr. Wonka and running full speed at Em. He launched himself onto the bed and she pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Mr. Wonka," coughed Mr. Bucket stiffly from his wife's side, "I'm, uh, very sorry about earlier." He nodded to the beam he had previously shoved the chocolatier up against, offering his hand in recompense.

"That's quite alright, sir, no harm done." Mr. Wonka grasped the offered hand and pulled himself up, nodding his thanks in return.

"Mum! Can Mr. Wonka stay for dinner?" hollered Charlie, from his spot on the bed. Em grimaced at the idea of forcing Mr. Wonka to suffer through a bowl of lukewarm cabbage soup, her mother mirroring her thoughts.

"Charlie, I think we'd best let Mr. Wonka get home."

Charlie frowned at his mother, looking over to Mr. Wonka hopefully.

Mr. Wonka acknowledged his stare, walking - or rather, limping, Em noted guiltily - towards the edge of the bed where the siblings were perched.

"Thank you, very much, for the offer Charlie," he smiled politely, "but I have one last question for you."

They all looked at him expectantly, Charlie leaning forward eagerly. Mr. Wonka took a deep breath.

"Would you and your family do me the honour of moving into my factory?" Mr. Wonka raised an eyebrow slightly before adding, "immediately."

"For real?" breathed Charlie, Em's eyes widening in disbelief; Mr. Wonka hadn't mentioned _that_ part of the plan.

"For real," chuckled Mr. Wonka.

"All of us?" questioned Mrs. Bucket in disbelief, hand over her heart.

"All of you," smiled Mr. Wonka, glancing around the room, his eyes pausing momentarily on Em – although she may have imagined it – before landing back on Charlie.

He burst into a huge smile, his head nodding instantaneously.

"Mr. Wonka," exhaled Mrs. Bucket, "we couldn't possibly –"

"Nonsense!" cried Mr. Wonka, startling them all. "So, you'll do it?"

"I'll do it!" cheered Grandma Josephine, throwing back the bedsheets in approbation, her skinny legs twitching excitedly as she attempted to push herself out of the bed.

"And me!" chorused Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina in unison, mirroring her attempts. Grandpa Joe even got so far as to heave himself out of bed before Em truly realised what was happening.

"Oh my goodness," gasped Mr. Bucket, rushing over to the elderly residents. "Pops, take it slow! Get back into bed!"

Em watched the ensuing chaos in awe, her cheeks hurting from laughing as her mother rushed to her father's aid, attempting to shepherd the elderly occupants back into their bed. She moved out of their way as Charlie began to jump excitedly on the mattress, his mother's reprimands falling on deaf ears.

"And you, Ms. Bucket?"

She jumped as Mr. Wonka's voice surfaced her from her thoughts. He was looking at her expectantly, an intensity deep in his eyes.

Em thought carefully, about everything that had happened. About her job, about the factory, about their beloved house; she had grown up here, it was her childhood home after all. Could she leave it all behind? Fond memories were buried deep in the very foundations of the shack, and, despite his undeniable charm, she'd only just met this man. Could she uproot her entire life for him?

But then she saw the expressions on her family's faces, the undeniable joy lighting up their eyes, Charlie's laugh the loudest of them all as he searched for his sister, and she realised she wouldn't be doing it for Mr. Wonka, she'd be doing it for her brother.

"It would be an honour, Mr. Wonka."

His face morphed into a relieved smile which Em couldn't help but return. He gently placed her palm in his and laid a light kiss on the back of her hand. She felt the familiar butterflies materialise in her stomach but Em ignored them, directing her attention instead to Charlie and her grandparents. She laughed as Grandpa George tottered away from Mrs. Bucket's outstretched hands, her skin tingling from where Mr. Wonka had placed his lips.

So what if she'd developed a bit of a crush on the chocolatier? Crushes disappeared over time, and she was positive this would be no different. She just had to give it some time and it would pass.

Unbeknownst to Em, her brother was hoping for just the opposite outcome, and he wasn't the only one.


End file.
